


Were you the lighthouse? Or the storm?

by papa_ya



Category: GOT7, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Help, How Do I Tag, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unrequited Love, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-13 12:09:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papa_ya/pseuds/papa_ya
Summary: Jimin falls in love with Kim Taehyung, the beautiful barista with the emotionally abusive boyfriend.When Jeongguk breaks Taehyung down, Jimin is there to fix him.Basically a story about breaking, but also loving.(How do you summary. )





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> pls don't hurt me I'm new. 
> 
> My writing is absolute rubbish but I've already written this entire thing so I might just keep uploading uno.   
> Also, this isn't how I actually view Jeongguk, I just wanted to write a story about emotional abuse within a relationship, and eventual healing. 
> 
> I don't know sheit about depression or emotional abuse but I've been on the sidelines before... seen both things happen so pls forgive me if my descriptions are inaccurate/ offensive. 
> 
> MORE CHAPTERS I PROMISE IVE ALREADY WRITTEN OKAY.
> 
> Why did I even write this. 
> 
> pls enjoy (??!?)

\--

_if loving you kills me tonight, then I was ready for death the moment you said hello_

_-_

 

Jimin felt disgusting. His head was heavy and sore. Nothing was alright. He was hungry and itchy (can one contract nits past the tender age of six and a half? Perhaps he would now find out). He stank. He had barely moved in two days, remaining stationary at this particular desk hour after gruelling hour- and yet he had barely achieved a thing. His mind felt empty; he imagined that if a marble was dropped within his brain it would tinkle and roll around in the hopeless emptiness.

 

University had him all kinds of fucked up. It would be the death of him. His brain ached. He had to pause and give himself some kind of rest; or they would find him slumped amongst his own papers and mountains of textbooks, smelling of stale food and disappointment. He began to shuffle slowly, sliding from his seat and gently to the ground.

 

Jimin barely registered in his clouded mind what time of day it was, but his cracked iphone blared up at him revealing the digits 3:45AM. The library was open 24 hours; time blurred and sifted within the confines of its tall shelves and silent archives. He padded across campus, the cool night air brushing his cheeks and stinging his eyes. He felt limp and drained; he was in desperate need of caffeine in his system. He made his way slowly out of the university and to the 24 hour café (everything was 24 hours, the city never slept and neither did any of the fucking people in it) down the street.

 

 

It was run by an old woman of about 500 years of age. He had never heard her speak (only grunt) and she was always perched atop her little wooden stool in the corner like a sad, stuffed canary. And that was who he expected at 3:50AM on that Wednesday morning as he entered the café; moving languidly towards the shipwreck of a counter beneath the cheap yellow lights.

 

But on this particular morning he stopped short, shocked, his breath hitching and his feet grinding to a halt. Perched on the same ugly wooden stool usually inhabited by the gremlin was a lanky boy, soft yellow hair mussed and shirt collar drooping dangerously low, threatening to exposed his perfectly tanned chest. He was wearing simple black shorts, his feet scandalously bare. Everything about him was understated brilliance; the perfect slope of his nose, his lips, his collar bones, his hands; folded around the book, the fingers long and supple. He was absolutely magnificent. The most beautiful thing Jimin had ever seen. And then he looked up and smiled. There was a small mole on his nose and his eyes crinkled sideways, his boxy grin revealing his perfect teeth.

 

And Jimin was absolutely fucking finished.

 

Slam dunk.

 

Destroyed.

 

His heart hammering in his chest.

 

He had never fallen so hard so fast.

 

 

 

“What can I get for you?”

 

“Uh, yes”

_Fucking smooth, Park Jimin._

 

His eyes widen. He is perfect in every way. Even in his state of polite confusion.

 

“I mean, I already know- could I please have a long black with a dash of milk?”

 

A giggle. He is laughing. And Jimin’s heart is beating at a million times per hour and his mouth is dry.

 

 

 

 

He falls in love with the lanky boy under the soft glow of cracked fluorescent lightbulbs, the scent of cheap supermarket coffee and fried bagels softening the air. Taehyung’s book lies discarded on the plastic tiles, his skinny elbows balanced on the counter as they talk, talk endlessly. Jimin leaves at 5AM, three cups of coffee later. Taehyung’s name is on the tip of his tongue, his laughter in his ears.

 

 

 

 

 

The second time they meet, it’s still 3AM. Jimin is jogging across the courtyard, a little too eager to reach the café with the wonderful-looking boy, and drink cheap coffee together and laugh. A solitary figure makes its way across the courtyard and he squints his eyes in the semi-darkness as the person approaches. His heart is in his throat in seconds. It’s Taehyung. He is dressed in overalls, dark blue denim contrasting with his yellow shirt.

Minion, Jimin thinks. That shit’s cute.

Taehyung’s eyes widen slightly as they near one another, and he grins widely. Jimin’s heart literally hurts. This is all too much.

 

“Hi, Jimin. Where you going?”

 

_To see you,_

“Uh, to take a leak”

 

Why is he like this? Taehyung looks at him, his eyes disappearing with his laughter, the sound round and golden. He is just so beautiful.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Me? To see my boyfriend.”

 

Nice. It’s all over before it even begins.

 

 --

 

There is absolutely no reason for him to be here. Absolutely none. But there he is, downing vodka at 4AM in the dorm room that belongs to Jeon Jeongguk, the charismatic, slightly cocky and ridiculously handsome muscle pig boyfriend. He couldn’t say no. Taehyung said “you wanna come?’ and it was all over. The air is thick and warm with smoke. Jeongguk is smoking indoors, which technically isn’t allowed. But he’s removed the smoke sensor from the ceiling (which is now a gaping hole with bits of wire sticking out haphazardly) just so he can smoke whenever he pleases.

Why? Who does something like that?

What an absolute dick.

 

They aren’t alone. There’s another boy, skinny, pale and sullen smoking something hand rolled and definitely illegal in the corner. Taehyung and Jeongguk are seated on the only sofa, a pitiful old thing, fake leather and ripped in one corner. Taehyung is draped over his boyfriend, face slack and content. He’s absolutely fucked off his face. Two puffs of whatever skinny boy was smoking, and he immediately became limp; flopping down like a wet fish and whining for Jeongguk to pull him up onto his lap. Jeongguk complies, much to Jimins’ disappointment. He begins to run his hands through Taehyungs’ hair, softly, gently, like he’s done countless times before.

Jimin swigs some more vodka. It’s hitting him now, his head swimming and the ground suddenly heavy and near. His breathing is laboured. He could never hold his liquor. He feels as though he’s watching the world through a lens; as if Jeongguk cradling Taehyung in his arms on the couch is a film, and he is watching from far away, silently hating the show but too awkward to leave the cinema.

He gulps down another mouthful of tasteless, shitty vodka, making sure he is mere seconds away from vomiting all over the unvacuumed, crummy floor.

 

Perfect.

 

“My dude”

 

This is skinny guy, leaning over his face and puffing a long stream of smoke slowly onto Jimin’s lips. It tickles slightly, warm and wet. He’s too close. The distance closes. The kiss is chaste and bumpy. Teeth clack. Their tongues flirt with the idea of touching, but draw back. Jimin is too weak to stop, and far too tired to resist. Taehyung is watching him, eyes blurry and unfocused. He licks his lips ( _oh for fucks sake_ ) and runs his long fingers deftly over his crotch. Jimin feels his dick twitch, seeing the way Taehyung’s erection looks outlined by the tight denim.

Jeongguk realises, and bends in, smirking. It’s all too much. Jimin rolls over, onto skinny dude, and retches, one, two three times, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the carpet.

 

 

 --

 

Jimin awakes with his cheek pressed into a patch of drool, a ringing sound in his head. He is weighed down by his body which feels fat and limp and broken. He tries to make a noise, to move, to show any sign of life but his hangover is so severe and crushing that he is unable to create any sort of movement in his body. He resigns to looking around the room, slowly and with great pain (even the movement of his eyeballs hurt). And he suddenly realises where he is.  
Taehyung’s room.

 

The air smells slightly of lavender and fresh water. The room is untidy but not overly so, and slung across the dilapidated writing desk in the corner is a pair of basketball shorts and the same t-shirt Taehyung had been wearing the night before. Above the headboard of the wall there are three photographs.

Jeongguk, all toothy grin and badly trimmed bangs, dressed in a yellow uniform and holding out his fingers in a heart sign. He can’t be much older than 15.

The second photo is more recent, the two of them standing beneath a Christmas tree. A lopsided santa hat is balanced precariously on Taehyung’s head. His grin is wide and bright, and his head is thrown back with the force of his laughter, revealing his crooked incisors and pink tongue. Jeongguk is holding him softly, close to his side, glancing at Taehyung with adoring eyes.

Jimin looks away. He feels intrusive, as if he is breaching their personal space and witnessing something precious and secret and definitely not meant for his prying, jealous, heartbroken eyes.

And yet, he cannot help but glance at the third photograph, the most recent one.

 

Jeongguk, as he is now, is seated in the grass, a cup of coffee crushed between his hands. He is looking away from the camera, his face hopelessly blank and uninterested. He is not looking at Taehyung, who is presumably behind the camera. He is looking away.

 

Something, is not right.

“Are you awake?”. Taehyungs’ voice is quiet and low.

“Yeah”

“Breakfast?”

“Please”

 

 

Taehyung is heavenly in the kitchen at 10AM, hair mussed and un-styled, his voice slick with sleep. In his gravelly tone he explains that Jimin passed out, and he lugged him home to his apartment. Jeonggukie didn’t really want you to stay, he explains apologetically. He casts his eyes downwards as he says this, a smile decorating his face but his eyes suddenly sad. Jimin doesn’t miss this.

Something is terribly wrong.

He feels it like an impeding storm on the horizon but its identity eludes him.

There is a small grinder and coffee machine placed on the bare wooden countertop. It is the only item of luxury in the tiny studio apartment, which is sparsely furnished and bare. Taehyung makes him a coffee, his hands flitting swiftly over the different buttons and nobs, tamping, and then dipping the steam wand in a metal jug to heat the milk. Jimin watches, mesmerised by the flick of the wrist with which the thick warm liquid pours into the mug, moving to create a delicate leaf pattern balanced on the foam. He drinks, gulps it down, and enjoys every last sip.

The coffee is sweet like butterscotch, and the perfect temperature. Jimin has had his share of good coffee, but this is something else altogether. Taehyung smiles as he watches Jimin gulp hungrily, and Jimin feels himself melt under his gaze. After he finishes his coffee (in a flat 45 seconds), he can’t help but ask Taehyung why he doesn’t barista in a proper café, with better wages and reputation, where he can put his excellent skills to good use. The same smile decorates his face.

 

“I don’t really think I’m good enough”

 

“Who told you that?”

 

There is no answer.

 

 --

 

“Kim fucking Taehyung? Are you mad??”

 

The angry queries are directed at him by Wheein, sitting high and mighty on a bar stool one Thursday evening. _My treat_ , she reinforces, and Jimin takes the opportunity to get well and truly sloshed. A little too sloshed, leading him to pour his heart out on to the marble countertop much to the disgust of his cousin.

 

“The hot lit major?? With the controlling boyfriend?”

 

His interest sparked, Jimin prompts Wheein to continue talking despite the previous onslaught of insults on his love life.

 

“What do you mean? Jeongguk?”

 

“Yeah Jeongguk, they’ve been together for ages, right? And basically when Kim Taehyung started as a first year everybody wanted in, man. He was a real social butterfly too. Name a party, he was there. He was everyones friends. And then one day, he started to draw away. He made piss poor excuses and stopped turning up. That was around the time Jeon Jeongguk started becoming a real asshole too. Drug, sex, alcohol, the whole package”

 

She takes a sip. Pinches the olive between her long nails and pops it in her mouth.

 

“Kind of difficult to say why Kim Taehyung won’t leave him. But I guess there’s more than that going on. You can never tell from the outside.”

 

She’s right.

But he’s dying to know.

 

\--

 

 

The answer comes to him, by chance. Two months later at a house party, his head is fixed inside the toilet, retching up his breakfast, his lunch, what feels like a weeks worth of meals. They are outside the bathroom talking in hushed, hurried voices. One is angry and the other is timid and afraid.

 

“Who said you could do that, huh?”

 

“Jeonggukie, I-“

 

“I don’t want to fucking hear it. I tell you what, you can fuck around with Park Jimin as much as you want, but don’t embarrass me in front of my fucking friends like that ever again”

 

“Guk we’re just friends, I swear to god, if you want me to-“

“But remember this, Taehyung, you’re fucking _nothing_ without me. You hopeless, ugly, untalented little bitch. You should be grateful that you have me. I’m the best you’ll ever get.”

 

Silence, the dull thud of music in the background. It is a pregnant pause, filled with heartbreak and unsaid words. And then there is nothing but the muffled sound of Taehyungs’ sobs; barely audible but driving like shards of ice into Jimins’ conscience, and his aching heart.

 

He has to stop. It all hurts too much. He wants it to stop.

 

 

 

 --

 

 

And yet, he winds up at Tae’s tiny apartment twice, three times a week, each time with a piss poor excuse usually concerning his homework (They take different courses but hey, moral support is real and important) or Tae’s coffee expertise. Tae never turns him away, never complains, usually greeting Jimin with a bright smile and a hesitant pat or squeeze on the arm. He introduces Jimin to his friends, Seokjin, Namjoon, and Hoseok. They, in turn, become his friends.

Most of his Friday nights are spent now at Hoseok’s house, playing mah-jong, staying up watching B-movies and bitching about university life and the hardships of being broke and uneducated. He is shocked when skinny dude bursts in one night, with a ridiculous amount of takeaway Japchae. Turns out, he is also part of this friendship group, and madly in love with Hoseok, who is completely oblivious to Yoongi’s infatuation. It hurts a little to watch him hopelessly pursue Hoseok, disappointment and sadness evident in his expression and voice as Hoseok speaks excitedly of his upcoming tinder date.

He wonders if the others can tell how deeply and terribly in love with Tae he is. If it pours through his words, his subtle movements. Whether or not he stares a little too long, or a little too longingly when Tae throws back his head to laugh at some dumb joke Namjoon tells.

Many of these nights end in him swigging one too many bottles of Soju, and Tae, dumb, kind Tae nursing him at 2AM with a damp cloth and a bottle of cheap water, his presence warm and comforting in the ashen darkness.

 

\-- 

 

“How do you feel about travelling with me?”

 

Jimin blinks. He must be misunderstanding. Is Tae even talking to him? He looks around cautiously. They are alone in the café, and it is 3:45AM. He looks back to Taehyung, clad in the most adorable baggy sweater (which kills him, really) his head cocked and eyes wary. Jimin is at a loss for words, and Tae must sense it because he takes a deep breath and begins to ramble, his thoughts tripping out one after another.

 

“I mean, like, nearby, locally? You know? Not something too expensive like Japan, it would be cheap and it doesn't even have to be that long, like 2-3 days, even 1 day if that’s what you’d like and I promise I won't be annoying I’ll listen to everything you have to say and-“

 

The rhetoric is that of someone who has become accustomed to giving a litany of excuses. Someone who is always giving up and forgiving and settling for less.

 

“Tae, of course I’ll go, oh my god, I’d go absolutely anywhere with you”

 

He fails to mask the enthusiasm in his voice, but as Tae’s face breaks into the most ethereal smile he can hardly bring himself to care.


	2. The breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeongguk does the unthinkable. 
> 
> Taehyung is destroyed. 
> 
> Jimin watches on hopelessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for the bad things that happen in the chapter. 
> 
> I DONT ACTUALLY THINK KOOKIE WOULD DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS.
> 
> Honestly.
> 
> It's just part of the story. 
> 
> \--
> 
> And I swear to god chapter three is all fluff and happiness and mad Vmin.

\--

_Love breaks my bones_

_And I laugh_

_-_

 

 

 They decide on Gangwon-do, close enough to the city but far enough to escape the crowds, the restlessness and daily hustle of Seoul. Tae wants to visit the Taebaek snow festival, which is fine by Jimin. He’s not a great fan of cold or snow, but he’s a great fan of Taehyung. Anything he says goes.

 They decide on the second week of their winter holidays. Taehyung puts in his unavailability for work, and the two begin to save for their trip. There is little talk of Jeongguk. Or how he would react to the fact that Tae is going on holidays with another man. But Jimin can guess the outcome.

 It all comes undone one Sunday afternoon, when Taehyung refuses to let him into his apartment. Shuffling from one foot to another in the freezing cold, Jimin waits for what seems like an eternity.

 

“I’m not going anywhere until you open the damn door, Kim Taehyung”

 25 minutes later, Jimins’ hands are numb and he genuinely fears that he will die of hypothermia on the frosty paved ground, never knowing the touch of the wonderful Kim Taehyung. He imagines his gravestone. _Here lies Park Jimin, having loved but never having been loved_. Would Tae attend his funeral? Oh god he would look so good, dressed all in black, his hair styled and tears in his eyes, his voice cracking as he speaks about Jimin and-

 Tae opens the door. He looks a wreck, tear tracks staining his cheeks, face blotchy and expression full of anguish.

 

“What did he say to you?”

 

“It really doesn’t matter”

 

“Of course it does. It matters Tae. You matter.”

 

His eyes widen and Jimin steps in.

 

“You fucking matter, Tae”

 And then Taehyung is beside him, with him, in his arms, sobbing with his face buried in the crook of Jimins’ neck. Jimin is left staring at the naked lightbulb casting cold, yellow light onto the bare kitchen countertop and coffee machine. Taehyung shudders in his arms, body wracked with sobs and leaning into him. He feels his own tears coming but swallows them down. Pats Taehyung gently, pulling him in and holding him tightly. “It’s alright” he whispers again and again. It’s the best he can do. “It’s all going to be alright”

 

 Taehyung cries himself to sleep but Jimin stays, rolling the tall, limp body onto the single bed and sitting on the wooden floor beside him. It suddenly occurs to him that the apartment has no couch; whenever he crashed at Tae’s during the night, Tae had given up his bed for Jimin. Had he slept on the hard ground? Or at the kitchen table, head resting in his crossed arms, sore and tired in the morning? His heart hurt. He was so kind to him. What had he done to deserve Taehyung? How could he ever repay him? How could he possibly be so pure, so selfless, so good even when he was hurting?

 He cried then, watching the way the moonlight swept over Taehyung’s eyelashes and traced his cupids bow. He clutched his long slender fingers in his own small hand, intertwining their fingers. He knew that he was being stupid; if Taehyung woke up now it could potentially ruin everything, their friendship, their trip, and yet he couldn’t help it. He was bare inches away from the boy he had loved, really loved for the last half a year.

 

It was too difficult to not reach out and grasp his hand, and bring him into him.

 

Safely, softly.

 

 

 

Jimin is awoken by Taehyung shifting in the sheets in the early morning light. He is sore, having slept in a sitting position on the floor, neck bent awkwardly onto the bed. But he feels strangely calm and content.

He is looking up at those three photographs again when he realises that the third, the candid of Jeongguk looking away is positioned slightly differently. Taking care not to wake Taehyung he reaches up, gently prying it off the wall and flipping it over. The writing on the back belongs to Taehyung, slanted, thin and barely legible.

 

_And I was never sure if you were the lighthouse or the storm_

He presses the photograph back into its place, a lump in his throat, and suddenly wide awake. Taehyung knew. And yet he still chose him.

They never revisit that night in their conversations during the following weeks. Taehyung remained the same; bubbly, happy and soft, subdued at times but otherwise unaffected by whatever Jeongguk had done to him that night.

 

\--

 

 

Two days before the trip, Jimin meets with Seokjin-hyung, who messages him out of the blue to demand a meeting. He complies, of course. They had become quite close over time, and he trusted and respected his elder.

 

“Are you really going to go through with this?”

 Jimin almost rolls his eyes. The coffee is bitter and watery, so much worse than anything Taehyung could make at 8AM in his kitchen, or at 1AM in cheap styrofoam cups at the dimly lit café. He pushes it away from himself and tries to concentrate on whatever it was that Seokjin is trying to say.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You know you’re just hurting yourself”

 

Don’t pay him any mind Jimin. Just be calm, be cool, this is your hyung-

 

 

“He loves Jeongguk, you realise? He won’t suddenly change his mind and come to you just because you travel together for 60- something hours”

 

 Jimin slams his palms down hard on the tabletop. The coffee spills, dripping onto the tile floors. Heads turn. He doesn’t really know why he’s so angry, he just can’t handle hearing what he already knows from somebody else. Is it that obvious? Does he seem pathetic?

Does Taehyung see him as pathetic?

He leaves in a hurry, tears stinging his eyes, the judgemental eyes of Seokjin-hyung piercing the back of his head.

 

 

\--

 

 

 

They meet at the train station. Taehyung is dressed in a blue cardigan and a sweater adorned with blue pineapples. His honey-coloured hair fans out from beneath a knitted grey hat but his exposed hands look cold, his wrists impossibly thin and white. Jimin offers him his gloves and he takes them with a thanks, his face breaking out into that smile that brings warmth to Jimins’ heart.

Like a sun through the clouds.

Sitting next to him in the train, nodding off against the window, Taehyung is breathtaking.

 

\--

 

And Jimin is so in love.

 

It all passes in a blur. The food, the festival, everything is brilliant but better spent with Taehyung. Jimin feels like he could live forever, watching the snow settling in Taehyung’s soft hair, and the excitement with which he makes a snowman. He makes a second, smaller one, placing them together. “Look, it’s us” he laughs.

Somewhere along the line, “You” and “I” transitions to “We”.

 

Where are we gonna go?

 

Where do we wanna eat?

 

Is it alright if we sleep in the same bed? I’m freezing Jiminie.

 

 

They’ve booked what must be the cheapest goddamn motel in the entire province, and the cheapest room too, more a cupboard than a proper living space. Jimin is initially shocked when he sees the condition of the place (two tiny beds cramped together and barely any space between or around them) but Taehyung is unfazed, so he chooses to ignore these minor defects.

It is barely past midnight when the temperature dips to minus 2 degrees and they realise the piece of plastic junk in the corner of the room is useless trash. 15 minutes of incessant banging on the buttons and all parts of the machinery yields nothing but a gust of smelly, warm air and a concerning amount of dust and mysterious fluff.

The blankets offer little warmth; they are thin and worn out, the edges fraying. It is too cold to move, speak or sleep, as the bed feels like a slab of frozen stone. Jimin is shaking so violently his teeth are chattering and knees knocking together.

The proposition is thrown out past 1AM, hanging silent and awkwardly between them. Sleep, together? Us? Now? But before he has a chance to answer, Taehyung takes his stunned silence as consent, and scoots his butt closer to Jimin, rolling over once, twice, and bringing his back to rest against Jimin’s trembling frame.

 

Jimin wants to die.

 

The boy of his dream is snuggled up against him, his sharp shoulders and broad back and perfect ass literal centimetres away from Jimin’s hands. The boy he has pined for, longed for, is now in his arms, but not really there at the same time. The pain and longing and love induces a strange sense of melancholia and he settles in his own thoughts.

It is warmer now, the heat radiating off the two of them mingling together pleasantly to create a cocoon of comfort. Taehyung has stopped shivering and is breathing easy, gentle puffs of air on the shitty, badly ironed bedsheets. Jimin thinks for a second that he is asleep, perhaps.

His hand moves before he can think, before he processes the consequences and implications of what he’s about to do and all that he could ruin. He lifts his hand from behind Taehyung and brings it around, onto the crook of his waist, and down towards his stomach. And he pulls Taehyung into him.

They are pressed flush together, heartbeats in sync. And his heart is racing but he wants to feel more, everything of Taehyung. Beside him, inside him, around him, in every part of his life forever, not just now.

 

So he nuzzles his way up Taehyung’s back clad in his soft pyjama shirt, and in the darkness presses a chaste kiss on the nape of his soft, soft neck.

 

“You know, me and Jeonggukie”

 

Jimin freezes. His blood runs cold. He is so fucking embarrassed and terrified that he wants to tear himself away from Taehyung and run forever. His hand is frozen, slung over Taehyung, and his mouth is far too close to Taehyungs’ neck, but all he can do is listen.

 

“We’ve been together for five years, yeah”

 

He cowers from the words. The darkness is crushing. He can't tell if its better or worse that he can't see Taehyung.

 

“It used to be so fucking good.”

 

Taehyung never swears.

 

“We used to be so good, him and I. He used to look at me like I was all his dreams come true. Like I was the best he could ever get and ever want. When did it fucking get like this?”

 

Tears, now.

 

“And yet, he still fucks me. He’ll take me in my shitty stupid apartment on that same bed you’ve slept on so many damn times. He’ll eat me out and then fuck me senseless against the table, or up against the wall. Sometimes he fucks me until I cry and I cum three, four times because of the overstimulation and the only thing I can feel is his dick pounding me and the way his teeth are marking up my neck. He fucks filthy and rough, you know”

 

Stifling darkness. The most painful pause ever.

 

“I’m gonna fight for it, Jiminnie. Even if he just sees me as a piece of meat, even if we don't talk anymore and the only time we can really, really reach for each other is when we’re fucked up on adrenaline and alcohol, I’m going to fight for it. Even if it takes every ounce of my being and breaks me down.”

 

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

 

 

 

“Because I just love him so fucking much”

 

 

 

Jimin finally tears himself away, flinging himself across the tiny room and away from Taehyung, and he is choking back his sobs, running to the shared bathroom on the ground floor.

Though scantily clad in thin pyjamas and barefoot, he is strangely unaffected by the cold as he bursts into the first available stall. He is painfully hard, his member heavy between his legs. Tears drip from his face as he yanks on his pitiful erection, conjuring up the same image he has used to satisfy his fantasies for the last half a year.

 

_Taehyung, sprawled out beneath him, legs high and spread wide. Hole loose and sopping wet, leaking onto the sheets. His legs tremble with exertion and his eyes are teary and half-closed, rolling back with pleasure. Jimin pushes inside with minimal effort, admiring the golden hue of Taehyungs’ skin, and the way sweat beads his delicate collarbones._

_Taehyung moans in time to his thrusts, which are rapid and shallow, pushing into his prostate time after time. Wrapping his hand around Taehyungs’ hardened cock, Jimin begins to pump it vigorously, occasionally running his forefinger across the slit, teasing it gently and enjoying the way the pre-cum dribbles down the length of Taehyungs’ erection._

_Taehyung is breathless now, bent up and fucked mercilessly by Jimin, his voice catching in his throat and hand grappling for something, anything. Jimin reaches up, grabbing Taehyung’s hands and pinning them to the bedsheets, taking a moment to intertwine their fingers. He is buried to the hilt inside of Taehyung’s wet, velvety warmth, and he is so close to cumming, so close-_

_“I just love him so fucking much”_

 

 

 

 

He sobs as he orgasms into his clenched fist, concluding the saddest, most pathetic wank of his life beneath the flickering green lights of Omelas motel. The cold shoots straight to his softening member, and he shivers as he sobs and tries to clean himself up best he can before returning to the room where Taehyung is still lying, thinking god knows what. Perhaps he is messaging Jeongguk or worse; ringing him to snicker about pathetic Park Jimin trying to make moves on somebody as pure and beautiful and wonderful as Kim Taehyung.

He loiters in the bathroom for a solid 25 minutes, seriously contemplating walking back to Seoul, dropping out of university and returning to Busan within the next two days to discuss the possibility of running his family-owned restaurant with his very concerned and (possibly) distraught parents.

But inevitably, he finds himself trudging back to their room before he dies of fatigue or freezes to death, and Taehyung is still laid in the exact same spot, unquestioning and silent in the darkness.

They sleep with their backs pressed against one another, keenly aware of the others presence and heartbeats, the occasional muffled sob from Jimin or Taehyung seeping into the frozen air and echoing in the room where they lie somewhere between love and friendship, both lost and found within one another.

 

 

 

They return to Seoul, back to days of drunken discussions at 2AM, overdue papers and caffeine- fuelled self-hatred, and living from pay check to pay check. Jimin still sees Taehyung painfully often as they sit in the cafeteria or the library, the table a slab of solitude between the two of them.

They pretend to talk like they used to, but it's useless. Jimin hates himself. He ruined it all. Now he’ll never have Taehyung, not even as a friend.

He stops visiting the café and he stops visiting Taehyung’s apartment. Instead, he opts to wallow in self-pity in his own apartment, boxed between four walls and dreaming of what could have been.

 

\--

 

 

It is rare for Jeongguk to join Taehyung and his friends, and Jimin feels immediately that Hoseok, Namjoon and Seokjin become more guarded and hostile around his presence. Jeongguk is either oblivious or simply unaffected by the sudden awkwardness, and lays lazily on Namjoons crusty leather couch, touching his cigarette lightly to his lips every few minutes and twirling it in his fingers, but never lighting it.

As alcohol enters their systems, the cohort loosens up and begins to laugh at Namjoon (who is spurting some nonsense about his outstanding intellectualism) and Hoseok, who is drunk dancing on the coffee table, body slightly too tilted and unsteady to be making any sort of cohesive movement. Jimin is unfocused, trying his utmost best to maintain his façade of nonchalance, but it is too hard. His eyes keep darting back to Taehyung who is silent by the sofa, sitting cross-legged on the ground beside his boyfriend.

 

They neither talk or touch.

 

The air between them seems stagnant, but that might be wishful thinking. Neither drinks.

 

 

As Jimin places his fourth bottle of beer on the ground (albeit, with minimal coordination and balance) Jeongguk gets up lazily, finally lighting his cigarette and drawling that _Tae and myself will be leaving now, thankyou gentlemen_. Taehyung looks to be in genuine pain now, the edges of his mouth drawn downwards and an unreadable expression on his face. None of the others see it, however, relieved to finally be rid of Jeongguk and his silent confidence and sickening smirk. They greet him hastily, pushing him towards the door, and each take turns to hug Taehyung and wish him a good night.

Taehyung lingers for a moment when he touches his hand to Jimin’s shoulder.

“Good night” he whispers.

It’s the first word he’s uttered since he stepped into the apartment with Jeongguk treading lazily behind him. “Yeah, good night” Jimin replies, attempting and failing spectacularly at not sounding like an emotional, lovelorn fool.

 

The door clicks, leaving the four of them and a brief, comfortable silence.

 

“What an absolute fucking asshole” Hoseok murmurs under the flickering fairy lights.

 

 

 

They drink to lighten the mood, trying not to touch on the topic of Taehyung and his tumultuous relationship, or how utterly and hopelessly in love and in pain Jimin is. They speak of Yoongi instead, and his absolute infatuation for Hoseok.

A deep blush colours Hoseoks’ cheeks when this is brought up, and he puts a little too much effort into denying his affection for Yoongi for his denial to be genuine. They are midway through negotiating the pros and cons of inviting Yoongi here right now to pin Hoseok against the wall and make sweet sweet love to him (much to Hoseoks’ dismay) when Jimin feels his phone buzz. He glances down quickly to check the screen, and in seconds he is standing, knocking down what must be at least fifteen empty bottles and charging to the door, knocking down the coat stand in his rush to extricate his bomber jacket from it.

The others yell in confusion and protest as Jimin bursts through the door into the mellow spring night and begins to run, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

 

**Kim Taehyung: Jiminnie can you come over to mine right now**

**Really need you here rn**

\--

 

 

The sense of doom settles as he pounds up the stairs of Taehyung’s apartment, and makes a beeline to his door. He is drunk still, disoriented and slow, but he has run the distance between Namjoon’s apartment and Taehyung’s apartment as fast as his legs can carry him. The door is cracked open, but no light seeps out. He smashes it open, and tumbles into the pitch black living room.

The door to Taehyung’s room is slightly ajar, and Taehyung must have the lamp on in there, because the slightest amount of yellow light filters through the crack. He takes a step forwards, to reach Taehyung, and his feet crackle on something.

Looking down, he can just make up the small oval shape of a coffee bean, and then two, three more enter his field of vision. The entire floor is covered in coffee beans, and his eyes trace the table and dart to the counter. Taehyung’s coffee machine, his prized possession, which he saved 8 months for is lying destroyed on the ground, bits of metal and plastic littering the floor.

 

The slick red metal surface glints in the faint light and Jimin can just make out a large foot mark above the steam wand.

 

“Taehy-“

 

“Jimin don’t fucking come here!!”

 

Taehyung screams at him, voice sharp and thin. Jimin freezes in his place, seconds before two large hands loom in the darkness before him, grabbing his neck and slamming his head against the wall.

 

Splitting. Pain.

 

He bites his tongue, the scent of bile and blood immediately building up in his nostrils. The hand remains on his neck squeezing, as he feels his tailbone numb, lungs give out and body turn limp.

With the last threads of his consciousness he strains his ears, trying desperately to make out what Taehyung is wailing in the background. He can't be sure, but it sounds an awful lot like _don’t fucking hurt him._

 

 

 

\--

 

This must be a nightmare.

Surely this is a nightmare.

How could something this twisted happen to him?

To anyone?

 

The dull throb at the back of his head has shifted gradually to his forehead and his temple. Jimin feels something warm and thick crusting at the top of his neck, matting in his hair. He focuses on his feet, clad in Doc Martens and feeling far away and detached, as if they aren’t really there.

 

He gulps, tasting the salty tang of blood in his mouth. And he looks back up.

Taehyung is splayed out on the bed, totally naked and limp. He is as Jimin always imagined during his self-love sessions beneath the showerhead. All long limbs and golden skin, moaning in sync with the thrusting, sweat running down his exposed neck.

Only, his hands are bound and a fully clothed Jeongguk is mounting him, face ugly and leering.

Jeongguk lifts Taehyung up deftly by the hip, bringing him closer into his own pelvis. Taehyung moans, a loud, sultry moan, as Jeongguk grinds mercilessly into him. Tae’s thighs flex and tremble with the effort of remaining open for so long.

Much to his dismay, Jimin is rock hard in his pants and leaking. His cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame. He gives his hands an experimental tug but they are bound behind him, presumably to Taehyung’s desk.

So all he can do is settle down, trying to shift his body to even slightly ease the throb of his erection, while he watches Jeongguk fuck his crush into the sheets before him.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. Jengguk sets a brutal pace, his own thighs flexing and his biceps bulging as he pins Taehyung down, rendering him unmovable. He takes his time to pull all the way out, slamming his entire length back in. Taehyung’s dick is clearly visible from this angle, longer than Jimin imagined and an angry red. Precum dribbles down his torso and pools above his belly button.

 

The bed creaks.

 

The sound of sex is too close, too real, and the air is thick with the musky scent of sweat and semen. Jimin wants to tear his eyes away, he really does. But he can’t. Every fibre of his body screams to remember this moment, to touch his eyes on every part of Taehyung that is usually hidden and hold on to it forever.

 

He feels pathetic.

 

The tears are coming.

 

And then Jeongguk pulls out, resting Taehyung on his lap for a second before flipping him over in one, swift movement. And Jimin locks eyes with Taehyung for the first time that night.

Taehyung is barely a metre away now, on his elbows and knees before Jeongguk. Jimin watches the way his beautiful almond-shaped eyes widen in horror, and a mangled sob escapes his abused throat. His shoulders tense and heave as Jeongguk slides himself in once more with a contented sigh.

 “Please, Jeonggukie, don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t do this”

 

The sound of his voice breaks Jimin’s heart. His usual low dulcet tone is broken and husky, and every syllable trembles with distress. Tears hang on his eyelashes, threatening to drop at any second.

But Jeongguk presses further in, until his crotch is against Taehyung’s trembling ass, and he grabs the nape of Taehyung’s neck with his forefinger and thumb. Taehyung flinches at the contact and tries to shift away, but there is no room for escape.

There is something oddly terrifying about the situation, although Jeongguk is using little force, and Taehyung isn’t exactly hurting.

 

 “Tae, just shut the fuck up, or I swear to god I will fuck your little Minnie until he can barely stand, okay? Just take it like a good boy”

 

The content contrasts with the soft, soft tone of his voice and Jimin stiffens, as does Taehyung. The image of Jeongguk fucking him, his filthy hands on him, weight crushing into his prostate makes him break into a sweat. His mouth is dry.

Taehyung falls totally silent now, and between the gap of his arms Jimin can see that he is no longer hard, his flaccid penis hanging uselessly between his legs which are still spread out and pushed up against Jeongguk. He shifts his head, placing his forehead against the sheet, hands folded together as if praying. Docile, he lets Jeongguk finish fucking him. The sound of Jeongguk’s groans seem eerily loud and out of place in the darkening silence.

He orgasms with a grunt, spilling into Taehyung. Pulls out to admire the way his semen probably drips from the tight ring of muscle, completely uncaring that Taehyung is unmoving and flaccid beneath him.

He looks up to make eye contact with Jimin, who is still fixated on Taehyung, gradually curling up in a little ball and shifting to lie on his side. Jimin can only see the top of his head, can only observe the way his blonde locks look against the dark white sheets. Jeongguk pulls up his pants but his zipper remains open.

And he begins to slide down the bed, towards Jimin.

Taehyung moves faster than Jimin has ever seen before. One moment his hands are bound and he is lying motionless on his side, curled in on himself. And the next, he is rolling onto his back, his left ankle cracking against Jeongguk’s head.

The dull thud breaks the awful silence. Jeongguk loses his composure, mouth opening in an o-shape, as he plummets from the bed, forward, onto the ground before Jimin. Jimin pulls in his feet away from him as Taehyung leaps up with surprising agility, bringing his fist up to crack Jeongguk hard; once, twice against the plane of his right cheek.

 

Jimin didn’t even realise him working on his bonds, but his right hand is free now, wrist an angry red colour.

It is a strange and surreal sight. Taehyung completely naked and piece of cloth bound around his left wrist, towering over Jeongguk who is resting on the ground with his hand on his cheek.

He finally looks his age, young and afraid, eyes darting to Taehyung, and then to Jimin, tears welling up in the corners. He opens his mouth for a second and Jimin wonders if he’ll have the audacity to ask him or Taehyung for help.

 

Blood begins to trickle from between his fingers where his lip is cut and oozing.

 

 

“Get the fuck out”

 

 

Jeongguk tries then to regain some of his previous swagger and confidence, but the uncertainty in his speech betrays him.

 

 

“You can’t do this to me, Tae”

 

 

“Leave now before I fucking hit you again”

 

 

“Don’t do this, Tae, come on, I never did anything bad to you. I never raised a finger against you.”

 

 

“Do you seriously think this is about whether or not you beat me? How could you possibly be so delusional? You belittled me, Jeongguk. You treated me like shit. You reduced my self-confidence to nothing. You distanced me from my friends, my family. I lost everything because of you, and yet you fucking pretended you were all I had. And when Jimin began to help me, really help me to rebuild myself, you try and make me lose him too? Do you not want me to succeed? To be happy? What kind of fucking relationship do you call this??”

 

Taehyung is screaming now. He is distraught, evident from his voice but Jimin can’t see his face. He can only watch the way his shoulders shake as he clutches his face in his hands.

“It doesn't matter how good it used to be, Jeongguk, if it hurts so damn much now. If it’s never going to get any better. I hate how you’ve made me. So please, go. Before I begin to hate you too.”

Jeongguk begins to sob heavily, his eyes large and disbelieving. But he seems to accept defeat slowly, gradually moving to stand up and walk out of the room. He tries to hug Taehyung but is swatted away.

“I’ll call you” he whispers.

Taehyung swivels to face Jeongguk now, and Jimin can see that he isn’t crying anymore. A hauntingly blank expression is present on his face instead. It is enough to understand that Jeongguk can call as much as he pleases, but Taehyung will never respond.

Their love is buried now amongst the sheets, broken fragments of a five year relationship scattered throughout the room that smells of deceit and bitter disappointment.

Jeongguk glances over once more at Jimin, hatred burning in his eyes, and almost looks as though he will step towards Jimin to do some very serious harm.

 

“You fucked it all up” he whispers.

 

"No Jeongguk" Taehyung murmurs. 

"We fucked it all up"

  
Pain leaks through every pore, simply radiates off Jeongguk. He wants to grab Taehyung. To fix what is broken and find what is lost. After all love conquers all, does it not? But the look on Taehyung's face is terrible and defiant and he knows then that it is finished, well and truly. Nothing is left to find. 

So he turns and goes, scattering coffee beans and rattling the door shut behind him.


	3. The healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taehyung breaks, but heals gradually. 
> 
> And eventually, he comes to Jimin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright this is it kids. 
> 
> Never edited anything so hard in my life. 
> 
> Again, I've never had depression in my life (so this may not be an accurate description of it) but I've seen it happen from quite close up. So kindof touching on personal experience?
> 
> BUT ITS ALL GOOD IN THE END.
> 
> Also if you actually have depression/ mental illness please seek help. Some people can come out of it quite naturally, but seeking help is the wisest thing to do. 
> 
> pls leave comments id really love to know what you think :)
> 
> I AM CURRENTLY WORKING VRY VRY HARD ON A SEQUEL/ EPILOGUE PLS DO NOT RUSH ME I AM STRESSED AND MAD WRITERS BLOCK
> 
>  
> 
> p.s user subsciptions make my heart feel warm thankyou and I promise im working on something else rn too im not gonna let yall down. 
> 
> And it makes me blush when yall call me author-nim thankyou kind folks

\--

_And when I wake up,_

_You are still with me_

_(Psalm 139:18)_

-

 

Taehyung is lost. The last pieces of Kim Taehyung lie missing, perhaps discarded amongst the coffee beans and silent wreckage of the apartment. Dropped within the few minutes following the rape. The eery silence signals an ending. There is no funeral. What is left of Kim Taehyung follows Jimin home, and he lets him. It is his turn to sleep on hard surfaces and creaking armchairs within the confines of his own house.

 Taehyung moves out of his apartment. His few possessions are crammed in a cardboard box, thrown onto the pavement as if lost property. There is little discussion as to where he should go. Jimin beckons him with open arms, and Taehyung flows into them.

 For a mere second Jimin imagines that perhaps Taehyung has come to him of his own volition. That he chose Jimin and he will lay nestled now within the folds of his life. That he will be present and true and love Jimin back as ardently as Jimin has loved him.

 But depression is nothing like the words in the books. Nothing about it is beautiful or poetic. It is filthy and low, and eats Taehyung alive.

 

All Jimin can do is stand by and watch the murder.

 

\--

 

Taehyung quits his job.

 

Taehyung barely attends university.

 

Taehyung sleeps, but does not talk.

 

Tears, at midnight in the bathtub.

 

\--

 

Jimin tries. He buys flowers. He buys coffee. He tries to have conversations about light and easy things like running man and Big Bang. Nothing works. Taehyung is motionless in his bed, his overgrown hair the only indication that he is alive, still living in this place.

He doesn’t cut his nails. He doesn’t shower. At his lowest point, he doesn’t eat for three days.

Jimin stops leaving the apartment during his free time. He is too afraid that he will come back home, and Taehyung will have killed whatever is left of him as well.

He can’t possibly risk that.

\--

Hoseok comes to talk to Taehyung, but leaves crying. Jimin realises that he hasn’t cried yet.

He can’t.

He just wants Taehyung to be well again.

\--

It takes its toll on Jimin. He comes home to his apartment after nine hour shifts and he can almost make out the dark thing Taehyung cradles in his eyes during the day. Sometimes he feels it wrap its tendrils around his own subconscious and threaten to wreak havoc.

Taehyung doesn’t seek help, and Jimin doesn't force it. Sometimes at night, he washes Taehyung because he can’t do it himself anymore. He runs soap suds over protruding ribs, and gently scrubs bronze skin. He has lost an alarming amount of weight. The meat seems to drip off him, his body straining to express his inner turmoil. Taehyung rarely speaks. There is no thanks.

Three months down the track he is no better. The holidays approach, and Taehyung wraps himself up within his solitude. Their shared space is as lonely as ever.

The devastated landscape of the lives they used to lead is their only home.

 

“I’m so tired” Taehyung whispers.

 

Summer is coming.

 

\--

 

The outbursts are the worst. Occasionally Taehyung will attack, unprovoked. He will hurtle a surfeit of insults and painful reminders in Jimin’s direction. Jimin shields himself against the barrage, but he is too often unsuccessful.

On one particular night, it is almost too much.

“I bet you just wanted to fuck me too right!?? Every night after meeting me and talking to me and acting like my friend you went home and wished you could be ramming into me right?? You’re just the same as him!!”

“How could you possibly say that?”

 

Jimin doesn’t bother to mask his hurt. He looks at Taehyung, who recognises the damage he has caused and falters.

 

“Jiminie I-“

 

But Jimin is gone. He sits on the veranda watching the city bloom with neon lights, tears crusting his cheeks and chilled to the bone. Taehyung as he is now has shaken him to his core. It has stripped him bare and left him vulnerable and aching. Remaining sanguine through the trauma been the most difficult task of his life.

He sometimes wonders if he can survive this and remain unscathed. He crawls back inside hours later, making his way to the kitchen table where he will sleep, for the third month in a row.

Minutes past midnight Taehyung ghosts into the room. Jimin pretends to sleep but feels his presence acutely; hovering by the doorframe.

 

“I’m sorry”

 

A sob.

_I know. It’s alright._

 

\--

On the second week of the holidays Jimin makes a bold, perhaps brazen move. He maxes out his credit card and borrows money from his parents. He’ll work months to pay off the debt. 700,000 won is a physically painful loss. But it almost seems worth it, as he watches the way Taehyung lights up when he sees the coffee machine. The fresh coffee beans and grinder stacked onto the kitchen bench. The microwave now sits on the ground to make space.

“For me?” he whispers.

  _Anything, for you._

Jimin wakes the next morning to a fresh cup of coffee on his kitchen table. Long black with a dash of milk. A blanket is draped over his shoulders.

Taehyung is humming in the bedroom.

 

\--

 

Recovery isn’t immediate. There are good days and bad days. But increasingly there are instances of normality, of pure bliss and childish innocence. One night Jimin catches a firefly in his hands and brings it to Taehyung. In the darkness Taehyung lights up with laughter, tinkling in the indigo darkness.

Small steps. But definite steps.

\--

The summers rolls over, lazily. A thunderstorm thrashes Seoul one night. There is a power outage, touching every corner of the unsleeping city. The air turns warm and musky. At 8PM they walk outside on the pavement with shirts soaked through and bare feet swimming through warm water.

They eat tinned fruit and rice balls in the dark and watch the rain wash the world away. Flashes of blue illuminate the room and fade away in quick intervals. Raindrops drum on the cheap roof in a constant staccato.

Taehyung invites Jimin into the room, into the bed. Their bed. They don’t touch, but they sleep together.

 

Muffled claps of thunder in the distance.

 

The door to Taehyung’s room, becomes the door to his room.

\--

Bits and pieces of Taehyung begin to assemble and recreate what he once was again. There are particular quirks and foibles that Jimin never realised; a penchant for talking to small animals and taking photographs of ugly plants in the street. Taehyung also loves kids. And watching shitty rom-cons in the wee hours of the morning. Taehyung is a lot fucking weirder than he ever let on. Places that had been long supressed by Jeongguk open up and bloom. And Jimin loves every moment of it.

 

There is a moment in time, where they find themselves stood at a fork in the road. When Taehyung is in such a good place that he can finally open up. In bits and pieces, he tells. That Jeongguk held the gun, but Taehyung loaded the bullets. How they destroyed one another through emotional manipulation and violent outbursts. Fights became commonplace. The pressures of university and financial insecurity twist them into something malignant and harmful.

How the toxicity of their love threatened to kill them but they held on; stupidly optimistic that eventually they could mend themselves.

 

How, Jimin, happened.

 

How Taehyung fell away from the relationship, and into something safer, warmer, beautifully poised and ready to embrace him.

How that broke Jeongguk into little pieces, inspired his jealously and led him to forsake everything to hold Taehyung down. 

 

Once more Jimin dares to hope, to dream, watching the way a sliver of light carves out the brown of Taehyung’s beautiful eyes. He is aching to ask. _Do you love me then? Do you? Is that what we're saying here?_

Taehyung's lips are parted in speech and cheeks flushed with pain and bitter remembrance. Jimin does not ask.

It is a silent Sunday night and they talk until dawn, sweating in what has unmistakably become _their_ apartment.

 

\--

Taehyung finds a job. He baristas at a popular café in the city centre, the sort which foodies visit and articles are written about. His pay exceeds that of Jimin’s, his hours are generous, and the people love him. He glows with happiness and health. He is away from the home more often now, and Jimin doesn’t know if it hurts, or if he’s glad that Taehyung has found himself again.

Jimin decides he will ask tonight when Taehyung returns from his shift. He rolls the words on his tongue. He doesn’t care which way it goes. Either he can leave, or Taehyung can. Keep the goddamn apartment, he thinks. I’ll live on the streets if I must. But I have to leave. My heart has already bled out so much.

 

How much more can he take?

 

But something is different when Taehyung returns that night. In the gentle velvet of the night, he swims towards Jimin who is ready to flee, to tear himself away from the bittersweet of unrequited love.

 

“Jimin” Taehyung whispers.

 

“I know it might be too late, but I’m ready now”

 

Blinking away tears. He can hardly believe it. Finally, finally.

 

“I’m sorry it took so long, Minnie”

 

“It’s okay” he sobs back.

 

And their lips meld together. Taehyung sucks gently on Jimin’s tongue, eliciting a sigh from the elder. A hand runs up his stomach, and onto his heaving chest. Another hand cups the nape of his neck, gently pinching and kneading the skin. Jimin sighs into the kiss and the perfection of the moment strikes him down, making him weak. He nips on Taehyung’s bottom lip.

 

They fall into one another.

 

\--

 

“Jiminnie” Taehyung breathes, little, languid thrusts pressing into Jimins’ prostate. Jimin feels his mind slip, consciousness give way, and his head lolls backwards only to be caught by Taehyungs long fingers and held in place. He squeaks as Taehyung nips his Adams apple, sucking gently and leaving angry red marks to last for days. He plants his hands on Taehyung’s knees, grappling for purchase. He is weak, pliant and over stimulated by every part of Taehyung and he is so close.

But Taehyung keeps a firm grip on his erection, loosening occasionally to stroke once, twice, before giving another squeeze and caging Jimin’s orgasm within his hand. A sob rips through his body, falling from his mouth and onto Taehyungs’ stomach, but Taehyung merely smiles. There is a strange look of curiosity and adoration adorning his spectacular face.

 

“You want to cum, Minnie?”

 

“Yes, yes, yes, so much oh my god TaeTae please please please please I want to cum so bad oh my god”

 

And then Taehyung hooks his arms under Jimins’ trembling knees, and lifts him clean into the air, legs straining only for second and his biceps bulging before pushing him down into the bed. Their foreheads touch in a beautiful but fleeting moment of intimacy; Jimin looking straight into the hazel of Taehyung’s eyes to admire the way the pupils are blown and excited, far too excited for what is to come.

 

“I’ll let you cum then”

\-- 

 

And so he does. Jimin is flipped over, pinned against the mattress and he feels the sharpness of Taehyung’s hipbones pressing softly into his ass cheeks. Taehyung sets up a brutal pace, hands planted squarely on either side of Jimin’s shoulders. Each thrust is so violent, a strangled cry erupts from his throat and he has to push back against Taehyung to avoid slipping off the side of the bed. He tries to focus on something, anything, and resorts to squinting at the lamp casting golden light onto his sweaty knuckles gripping the sheets. Pleasure builds in his lower half and he feels the orgasm rip through him, an impossible amount of cum spurting onto the sheets. Taehyung reaches around, never slowing, never stopping his pounding and grabs Jimin tightly in his hand, milking every last drop.

Jimin begins to scream as he feels Taehyung dig his nail into the slit, teasing out every last ounce of pleasure and tipping Jimin into the painful yet somewhat exhilarating realm of overstimulated, drawn out sex. Jimin begins to slump, his body limp and chest grazing the bedsheets. But Taehyung pulls him back up.

 

“We’re not done yet, baby” he snarls.

 --

Jimin vaguely registers his third orgasm, pinned up against the bedroom wall with his nose buried in the crook of Taehyung’s neck and breathing laboured. Short gasps escape his mouth but little else; he is too tired and spent and loose for anything more. His dick is pressed against the line of Taehyung’s abs, perfectly aligned with his belly button. Cum dribbles down from his weeping cock, trickling to the place where Taehyung ends and Jimin begins.

Taehyung is still rock hard and pulsing within his wet walls, having lost none of the momentum or stamina they began with. Jimin thinking blurrily that Taehyung is made, absolute born for fucking, everything about his lithe physique and absurd energy making him an absolute monster in bed. He is covered in his own cum and Taehyung’s, in hickeys and spit and sweat. And it feels fucking wonderful.

 

\--

Taehyung is vocal now. Riding out his second orgasm, Jimin his fourth.

“Fuck, look at my cum spilling out of you. Wanna plug you up babe, have you brimming with me for the rest of your days”

Back on his knees, Jimin musters the strength to look back at Taehyung, whose face is drawn and purged of anything but desire.

“Tae” he croaks.

Reaching out.

 

And Taehyung chooses to snake his fingers between Jimins, clasping their hands together in a sweaty embrace. Jimin shudders as Taehyung brings a free hand down to slap his ass, leading him to tighten, involuntarily. The effect is instantaneous. Taehyung groans and grinds slower with minimal, stirring movements.

“Fuck I’ve been looking at this ass for so long, wanting to fuck you every which way leave you so you can’t stand, so nobody can look at you without knowing your mine”

And then he spills into him, and Jimin watches the way his face slackens, his eyes sliding shut and his mouth falling open to exhale the most delicious moan. Throaty and low, it effects Jimin as his body tremors, and a slight dribble of cum pulses onto Taehyung’s abdomen.

 

And suddenly Taehyung is grasping his own face in his right hand, his left still intertwined with Jimin’s. A single tear escapes through the crack between his forefinger and thumb, trailing down his chin and onto his collarbones. Jimin tries to twist back, but they are still locked together, Taehyung slowly going flaccid within Jimin’s insides which are raw and aching from copious amounts of fucking.

 

“What’s wrong Tae, what’s wrong”

 

“It feels so fucking good man. Feels so good.”

 

A brief pause.

 

“It never felt like this it never was like this, I can’t believe-”

 

Jimin squeezes, hard. He presses his thumb into Taehyungs’ hand, rubbing little circles. Be alright, he thinks. Please, be better.

 

“Thank you Jimin. Really. Thank you for everything.”

 

“It’s alright.”

 

He whispers back softly.

 

“It’s all going to be alright”

 

\--

They slip into post-coital bliss, rapidly. Taehyung curls into Jimin’s arms, nuzzling into his chest and breathing slowing. Teartracks dry on his pink cheeks. Jimin pulls him in then, struck by how vulnerable he looks. How young and broken and tired Taehyung is, and how much he loves him.

Let me love you, he whispers. Let me hold you close.

But Taehyung is already fast asleep, naked torso heaving slowly and breathing even. His eyelashes flutter slightly as he hiccups in his sleep. Jimin smiles a small, sad smile. He settles down after a gentle kiss to Taehyung’s temple. The tears threaten to spill, but he holds them in.

This is okay. He’s okay.

 

\--

 

 

Taehyung wakes up to buttery orange light filtering in through the crack in the curtains, the hands of the shitty alarm clock Jimin refuses to throw out (“It was a gift from my little brother, you heartless piece of shit”) reading 5:30AM, which means it’s probably closer to 6:25. He deliberates whether he should wake up, cook breakfast, bringing it to Jimin who is undoubtedly sore and still slightly messed up from last night.

He looks down at him, plush lips parted, breathing softly and slightly. His face is half hidden by his forearm, his fringe pushed up to reveal his forehead. He is beautiful between the storm of sheets in the morning light, and Taehyung hovers over him for a few drawn out seconds, contemplating. He rehearses the words he’s been practicing for weeks and weeks now, in the shower, to his own nervous face in the bathroom mirror, or even walking down the sidewalk on windy weekday mornings.

 

_I love you, be mine._

 

He’s going to say it, though. It feels right, as right as the feeling of Jimin kissing his forehead in his slumber. Or cooking breakfast on a Saturday morning with those bedroom eyes and bedroom hair and perfect, breathtaking smile. As if on cue, Jimin stirs, his hands shifting in his sleep to pat the spot on the bed beside him, searching for Taehyung. Taehyung cannot help but smile as Jimin frowns slightly, his brows furrowing and a look of slight disdain etched on his sleeping profile. In minutes, he will awake to fix those eyes, those eyes on him. He can already hear the slight lilt in his voice. That tinge of satoori lining his _good morning_.

And this time Taehyung will be the one to reach out.

And to pull him in close.

Keep him safe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Were you the lighthouse? Or the storm? (Epilogue pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeongguk has lost Kim Taehyung and is suffering. 
> 
> Kim Yugyeom waltzes into his life and confuses him no end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. 
> 
> The fourth chapter. The fifth is also written, will upload tomorrow!! 
> 
> PLEASE PLEASE read the first three chapters if you havent already. Everything will make sense. 
> 
> \--
> 
> I hope now y'all can begin to understand Jeongguk and what he did a little better
> 
> (Also, eventual smut. get ready)

 

\--

 

_I remember awakening one morning and finding everything smeared with the color of forgotten love_

 

\--

Jeon Jeongguk awakes alone at 4:30AM. It is a Saturday morning but his sleeping pattern has become irregular and unpredictable. Insomnia had claimed him for some time. Gripped him in a vice-like clutch. It had been a solitary struggle. Ostracized by his friends, abandoned by his partner and far away from his family, he had sunk soundlessly.

 In the dark folds of sleeplessness he had regretted. Endlessly. Images of Taehyung plagued him day and night. His voice flitting through his mind, the scent of his tears pungent. He had questioned himself to no avail.

 Why had he done it? How could he have done it? 

 “I am not a bad person” Jungkook whispers to his own self in the cracked bathroom mirror. He had punched it some weeks ago, unable to contain his brimming self-hatred and inane self-doubt. With the stinging pain in his knuckles and black blood dripping onto dusty tiles he had almost managed to find peace.

Only to be pulled back under.

 

By the mere memory of Taehyung smiling at him beneath snowy eaves.

 

\--

 

“Upon close observation, one might conclude that there’s something seriously fucking wrong with you, Jeon Jeongguk”

 Jeongguk looks up. Kim Yugyeom is as coquettish and unsubtle as ever in his ugly work uniform invading his personal space. This boy, Jungkook thinks.

 “Actually I’m fine thank you Yugyeom you can return to your work now”

 But the bowling alley is mercilessly deserted and Jeongguk is trapped with the most impertinent co-worker of all time. For the remainder of his 8 hour shift that begun only 52 minutes ago.

 

“There is no work to be done, Kookie—“ Yugyeom whines.

“It’s hyung to you”

 “But is it really? We’re only two months apart guk”

 “How do you even know that”

 “I have my ways Jeon Jeongguk. 20 years old. Born in Busan. Majoring in visual art and contemporary music. Gay.”

 “Okay Facebook stalking is hardly a bona fide method of knowing anything and everything about someone. Plus, that’s really terrifying dude. Can you not?”

 

But heat broils in his gut. He had purposefully misspelled his name on social media and taken extra precautions to insure that only a limited number of people could find him, access any information about him. It didn’t take much for one person to ruin everything. A slip up, a whispered word that Jeon Jeongguk liked men. That he had a tattoo on his left shoulder, administered by an unlicensed tattoo artist. In a garage. In Hongdae on a sunny spring afternoon with soured beer sloshing in his stomach and dripping down Taehyung’s skin.

 

Taehyung.

 

Taehyung had been deft with his hands, despite his obvious lack of any artistic acumen. “I got this” he had remarked sotto voce, pressing his shaking palm into the crook of Jeongguk’s elbow to keep him steady. “I trust you” Jeongguk had replied weakly. Jacked up on adrenaline and tipsy off cheap beer, he had let the sharp sting of the needle pour over his skin.

The result had been exemplary. Taehyung was left pale from concentration, his lip bitten raw. He was drenched in sweat, bangs sticky and slick against his clammy forehead.

“Fuck, that was a challenge!!” he hollered, flopping down on the bare ground to reveal a portion of his pale stomach, peeking out from the upturned hem of his shirt.

These were days of indecision and heavily implied sexual confusion. Taehyung had known, and had waited. And in that exact moment Jeongguk knew that yes, this was precisely what he wanted. That nothing else mattered, save the curve of Taehyung’s calf and his beautiful lips settled in a half smile.

So he had clambered on top of him and pressed their lips together in an awkward, clumsy kiss.

And Taehyung had responded like he had been waiting for it all his life. 

\--

 

“Jeongguk?”

 

Oh shit. He focuses his eyes on Yugyeom who is crouched unpleasantly close to Jeongguk, eyes searching and concerned.

“You alright? You kinda spaced out there”

“Yeah nah, I’m fine. Look, listen up. You got me. I’m not the person I pretend to be in this shitty little bowling alley. I’m gay. I have a tattoo. I smoke. So please, for christs sake, don’t tell Mr. Won these things. I need the money man. Give me a break.”

“Wait so you are gay?”

“What-I, really now?”

 

Jeongguk gapes. He can hardly believe that’s all Yugyeom gleaned from that entire spiel of his.

 

“Well, yes, no, I guess? No, okay no.”

“But you had a boyfriend. What’s his name? Taehyuk?”

“Taehyung.”

 

The name is bitterly familiar yet distant. He realizes it’s been weeks since he last vocalized it, screaming down the phone at Taehyung to pick up, please pick up, I’ll do anything for you to pick up. He had rolled the same name around his mouth at 2:00AM in the morning after a particularly vicious panic attack, and in a drunk stupor at some godforsaken house party. He had moaned it during sex, cried it during fights, screamed it in jubilation.

But now, it meant nearly nothing.

 

“But Taehyung was different. I’m not gay. I’ve never wanted another man like that.”

He wonders why he’s saying this. Letting Yugyeom peek through the keyhole. His doors had been tightly sealed for months. And so they should have remained. But Yugyeom persists. He picks at the lock.

“Let me change that”

 

 _This boy is insufferable_ , Jeongguk concludes.

 

\--

 

Three sleepless nights later, Jeongguk is lying on his back, drowning in his own thoughts. It has become routine, mulling over the moments which slowly broke them down. 7 months on, they are as vivid as ever. 7, months, without, Taehyung.

 

Is this the feeling that makes people leap off bridges?

 

\--

 

Two years into their relationship, the honeymoon phase had screeched to a halt. They had become too comfortable within one another’s life. They no longer bothered to go the extra mile (though it was never crowded, why hadn’t they realized this back then?) and increasingly, things were left unsaid. Consent was a dubious topic. They chose not to discuss it. Like too many other things.

One tilting point occurred at a party.

Taehyung was drunk.

 

Jeongguk was not.

 

He had chosen to not drink that night because he had a test the next morning; difficult and worth 50% of his overall grade. He would have preferred to stay home, cramming last minute theories and names and trying to make sense of his own handwriting at 5AM. But Taehyung had insisted, really insisted that they attend the party together. _It’s a couple thing Kookie, do you want me to die socially? Is that what you want for us? I graduate in half a year, live a little will you??_ Jeongguk cared sweet fuck all about what their stupid little peers thought about them as a unit. But he cared about Taehyung. So reluctantly he tagged along.

The party was removed from the city, in the sprawl of urban lodgings near the outskirts of Seoul. They took two trains to reach it, and Taehyung was rubbing elbows and downing shots within minutes. There was barely anyone Jeongguk knew; mostly seniors. As the year drew to a close, there was a sudden rush for all graduates to socialize and savor what little time they had left together. Jeongguk felt awkwardly out of place.  

Jeongguk watched sullenly as Taehyung laughed throatily, arm draped over someone-or-other who observed the bob of Taehyung’s adams apple with unconcealed lust dancing in his eyes.  Jealousy had become a constant companion since the day he realized he was utterly, hopelessly in love with Taehyung. Taehyung was attractive. Sexy. Conventionally beautiful and desirable to both women and men. Jeongguk was constantly whipping him into corners, away from prying eyes and sleazy university students undressing him with their eyes. It made him anxious and hurt.

 

He chose eventually to leave, seconds before whoever-the-fuck snaked his hand onto Taehyung’s hipbones one more time. He had never had issues with anger management until the sight of Taehyung backed against the wall with Park Jinyoung between his legs had swum before his eyes. He sat, perched upon the low-rise hilltop, staring at the stars. Obscured by haze in the city center but frozen in the sky here, they seemed strangely distant and unreal.

Almost like Taehyung, stupid, insensitive, beautiful Taehyung laughing jovially 10 feet away but impossible far.

Jeongguk had laid on the hill for several more minutes, admiring the stars and scrolling through his facebook feed to kill time. He considered leaving the loud thumping of feet on hardwood floor, alcohol and meaningless small talk behind to catch the subway home but he knew Taehyung would berate him the following morning for leaving him behind. He could be clingy like that, always insisting on attending jointly, yet never staying by Jeongguk’s side. It was hopelessly irritating.

 

He was suddenly startled by a loud slam, glass door swept open to reveal Taehyung galloping through the garden to him. He gabbled incoherently about body shots, tequila and the spectacle that was Jinyoung’s ass in _those leather pants kookie_ , before sensing Jeongguk’s utter lack of interest and falling silent.

“I’m gonna piss now” he slurred promptly, swiveling to make his way behind a nearby sycamore tree.

Jeongguk heard the metal clasp of his belt click and the sound of urine hitting the tree base reached him, causing him to scrunch up his nose.

 

Fucking gross, he thought.

 

Taehyung returned minutes later to Jeongguk’s side, sitting curled up in a ball with his head resting lightly on the younger’s shoulder. Jeongguk hated Taehyung like this. Sweaty and smelling of hard liquor and smoke, he was too far removed from the Kim Taehyung he had fallen in love with two summers ago.

“Jeonggukie” Taehyung whispered.

“Yes?” Jeongguk replied eagerly. Perhaps Taehyung would suggest they return home, to either of their homes. Away from this cacophony and crowds of girls with skimpy skirts and empty heads, boys with roaming hands and eager libidos.

Where they could kill their breath and quietly fuck under bedsheets and sleep together in the aftermath. And Taehyung would drop out of his window the next morning, hung-over and smelling of sex, face triumphant and hair messy.

 

“Suck me off?”

 

Jeongguk is shocked. He feels cold. Disgusted.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Come on Guk, you fucking buzzkill”

Taehyung’s voice assumes a lazy tone, feigning relaxation. But his words are loaded and scathing. Jeongguk isn’t stupid. If he complies, they can go home. If he refuses, Taehyung will go back inside. And somebody else, will suck him off.

 

“I don’t want to”

“Fuck, you're boring aren’t you?”

 

Taehyung is looking away now, lifting his head gently off Jeongguk’s shoulder. In seconds he will move away. Swim back through the crowd, to the first person, any person who will take him. Jeongguk hates this. The pressure. The assumptions. He is too anxious and scared to let this happen.

 

So he gives in.

 

On his knees in the grass, he feels stupidly vulnerable and humiliated beyond belief. His timberlands rest in the dirt, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his shoulders as he takes Taehyung’s length in his mouth. Taehyung tastes musky and slightly of urine, which makes Jeongguk want to scream and spit him out. He uses his hands to grip the base of the penis, trying to make the experience as pleasurable and speedy as possible. They are barely hidden behind a patch of shrubbery, and the keen sound of whooping and singing makes him shrink back into himself.

He imagines his hyungs seeing him like this, grimy and ashamed, at the mercy of Kim Taehyung, deep throating in a public space. The degradation is almost too much to bare. Taehyung grabs him roughly by the back of the head, pushing him down his entire length in one, swift movement. Jeongguk tears up and chokes at the sudden impact, his throat clenching around the unwelcome intrusion. Taehyung releases a few breathy moans before pulling out to spill over Jeongguk’s cheek bones. He misjudges the distance and semen splatters on to Jeongguk’s forehead, and into his carefully set hair.

Taehyung makes no move to clean him, or touch Jeongguk himself. After a pregnant pause which seems to last decades, Taehyung unsteadily buckles up his jeans and cards his fingers through his hair, pats Jeongguk awkwardly on the cheek and traipses back to the party.

 

So Jeongguk hops the fence and runs through the alleyways to the station. He loses his way once, twice, coming to rest on filthy curbs where he pulls out his phone and frantically tries to locate both himself and the closest station. He returns home hours later, dried semen crusting his hair and tears in his eyes.

 

He waits and waits for Taehyung to call him. But there is only the swallowing darkness and silence, at the end of the line.

 

\--

 

“What are you sulking about, Jeongguk?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“I’m sorry if I said something to you at the party. I was really fucking drunk. My mistake. But you should’ve drunk too, honestly. It would’ve been a lot more fun for the both of us.”

 

And for a split second, he hates Taehyung. With his perfect angelic face crushed in a look of annoyance, days after forcing Jeongguk to suck him off in some godforsaken bush. With his inconsiderate, incontrollable persona and flirty nature. After all this time, Jeongguk muses. Why can’t you tell what I’m thinking? Why won’t you reach for me? Why won't we talk?

 

He really does hate Taehyung. Only for a moment. It’s the first of many.

 

\--

 

“Good evening”

 

“What. The. Fuck.”

 

Jeongguk stares, scandalized at Kim Yugeyeom crouching on the pavement. At 10:45. On a weekday evening. Waiting for him to finish work. What is this, a fucking rom-com? Yugyeom is smoking, whisps of smoke tracing his delicate jawline and settling in his hair. Jeongguk never appreciated it until this moment, but the boy is handsome. In a roguish manner, with his strange oblong face, immense height and shapely nose. But he’s not Taehyung. He’s well built and taller than Jeongguk. He’s cocky, vocal and stupidly optimistic. He’s physically rough and careless. Funny.

All these things, nothing like Taehyung.

 

“Are you checking me out?”

 

“Fuck no”

 

Yugyeom cackles, eyeing Jeongguk with unabashed adoration and interest. Jeongguk squirms under his gaze.

 

“Please, just one drink. Then I will leave you alone. For the rest of your life, I swear by it.”

 

And Jeongguk gives in.

 

The escapade ends messily, their bodies pressed together in a back alley, Yugyeom’s lips ghosting the shell of Jeongguk’s ear. _Of course, this would fucking happen_ he chides himself in his mind. Head thrown back while Yugyeom marks up his throat, he allows himself to sink like a stone. Into the warm comfort of arms caging him in to hold him close.

Even though it’s not Taehyung, it’s never Taehyung, will never be Taehyung again.

They stumble through the night. Lights blur. His vision flickers, but Jeongguk keeps drinking. Forget, he prays. Forget, forget, forget it all. Put it far behind you. He vaguely acknowledges Yugyeom fumbling with his apartment keys before they fall sideways into a room he has never seen before, in some part of town he has never been before. He crawls to the bed, messy and unkempt.

The room is a description of Yugyeom, thrown together with little concept or plan, bursting with loud character and personality. Posters litter the wall, books, albums and cd-s flood the floor. Jeongguk screams at Yugyeom to turn the light off, it’s too harsh you dickhead. So Yugyeom does so wordlessly, dousing the light and plunging the two into inky darkness.

Jeongguk senses Yugyeom hover over him and grapples, trying to reach.

 

“Come on” he slurs. “You know you want it. Come and get it.”

 

And yet, he cannot help but flinch when Yugyeom circles his wrist with a large hand. The words that follow surprise him.

 

“You’re drunk, Jeongguk-ah. Go to sleep.”

 

Lust lines his voice, and Jeongguk hears it acutely. He screams and thrashes like an obstinate child, drunk beyond belief and upset that Yugyeom has been pestering him all, this, time, only to refuse him when he asks for it. Why was it all so fucking difficult? Why couldn’t people just act and do as he wanted? Why did it hurt so bad?

Eventually, darkness pulls him under. He feels a hand caressing his cheeks, pulling a sheet up to his chin, and the warm weight of a body pressing into his back.

And for the first time in months he welcomes a sleep as final and heavy as death.

 

 

\--

 

In his dreams, he revisits a breaking moment.

A year apart fucks them up. Fucks with him. Fucks with Taehyung.

Taehyung flourishes in university, while he is stuck in stupid Daegu, trying to pass entrance exams and struggle through mid-sem tests. The skype calls become sparse. Half-hearted _I miss you’s_ and too many forgotten phone calls to be accidental. With distance comes disinterest.

Taehyung returned six months after he has left. He stayed for a week, visiting Jeongguk every day in his house. They lived three streets apart, and occasionally Jeongguk would look up from his writing desk to see Taehyung jog up the hill, hair bouncing rhythmically and eyes fixed on Jeongguk’s house.

These moments inspired love. Made him feel that perhaps the fading was natural, that they had been apart for some time but could fall back together.

Because if they were not made for each other, why would they fall in love?

 

They had sex, gentle and loving. Making love would have been an apt term for these occasions. They took their time, long, drawn out sessions of teasing and foreplay, until Jeongguk was clutching at himself to contain his orgasm and draw it out, until he could spill inside of Taehyung.

Jeongguk loved most when Taehyung gave him head, nipping the shaft of his throbbing member, running his tongue teasingly over the slit, forcing him to beg for release. The act seemed particularly intimate. Taehyung’s mouth which whispered I-love-yous in the half light, laughed at his jokes, sung quietly to the radio now wrapped heavily around his manhood. He loved pressing his foot into Taehyung’s own erection, watching him shudder with discomfort and pleasure. Sometimes he would allow Taehyung to touch himself while giving oral; he loved to watch his long fingers work up his own length, tears beading his eyelashes as he struggled to accommodate Jeongguk’s entirety in his mouth. Sometimes hearing Taehyung mewl in desperation was all he needed to cum, hips jerking and hand gripped around the back of Taehyung’s head to bring him in closer.

Jeongguk was hardly a romantic, but he loved the moments after sex, after orgasm where he lay with Taehyung, sticky bodies pressed together in the orange light. Taehyung’s hooded eyes looking up at him tiredly. The intimacy eclipses that which he felt during actual sex, their mutual exhaustion dragging them down into eventual nothingness. He wanted to feel Taehyung’s embrace, fingers combing softly through his hair. _I love you,_ at twilight.

But Taehyung had become distant. Sometimes he would lie silently in bed, only to excuse himself and exit the room to talk loudly on his phone two rooms away. The recipient of his calls varied; Namjoonie, Hobi-hyung, but he always sounded far more animated than he ever did in Jeongguk’s room, disinterest clouding his eyes as they tried to catch up on lost time and make conversation where there was none. The sex was still close and good. Loving, even. But everything in between had fallen away.

Taehyung had taken him out on his last day in Daegu, to their favorite park where they spent countless nights gulping booze and trying not to drunk fuck in the un-kept grass. But nothing was the same. When Taehyung tried to take a polaroid of Jeongguk sitting in the grass with a cup of coffee between his hands, Jeongguk was swift to look away. He could sense the hurt he’d caused by being so disengaged.

The solution was simple. Let’s stop fucking to cover up the problem. Let’s stop pretending that it’s alright because we still touch each other. But we can’t even look each other in the eye. Taehyung, please, let’s talk.

But he remained mute, and didn’t even extend a hand when Taehyung cried on the way home, shuffling three paces behind.

 

It takes two to tango.

Taehyung partook in this destruction.

 

And so, when Taehyung was boarding the train later that day, he delivered the final blow. The nail in the coffin.

 

“Live with me when you graduate and come to Seoul?”

“No.”

 

And he watched Taehyung’s heart shatter in to a million tiny pieces.

 

\--

 

“You were crying in your sleep you know.”

 

Jeongguk blinks. Yugyeom is soft in the morning light. The softest he has ever seemed. He almost seems human, like something Jeongguk can reach out and touch. Understand, even. Perhaps, love.

 

“What do you dream about?”

“Please don’t.”

He doesn’t know why he’s holding back. Yugyeom is sitting with him on his bed, spooning cereal out of a plastic plate, as natural as anything in what Jeongguk had considered his own, private and solitary space for far too long. He had missed this. This, togetherness.

 

“Please don’t make me talk about this”

 

“I would never”

And Yugyeom doesn’t press any further. He falls silent, returning to eating his cereal. He cares, but is not intrusive enough to pry him open. And Jeongguk appreciates that, so much. This is someone who will wait, he realizes. So he does something he could never do for Taehyung, or himself. He reaches out to take Yugyeom’s large hand in his own, hooking their fingers together. He squeezes tightly.

 

“Stay” he whispers.

The tremble in his voice betrays him. But Yugyeom squeezes back. Their eyes meet. It has been so long since Jeongguk has looked into someone’s eyes like this, just like this.

“I promise” Yugyeom whispers back.

 

\--

 

It turns out, Yugyeom is kind. And interesting. He is complex and fragile, and Jeongguk finds himself probing the sensitive part of another’s mind for the first time in too long. Trying to accommodate Yugyeom and his habits.

Going out of his way to make time.

Yugyeom introduces friends to him, cautiously but casually. Bambam is a riot. He bursts in unannounced and dabs too much. He is stupid and loud but there is a certain comfort to all this. To how easily they pull him into their lives. Jeongguk finds himself laughing one evening atop a high-rise building as the sun cascades down the sky, streaking the clouds a bright lilac. Jaebum is passing him a joint, thoroughly sloshed and eyes unfocused, telling the most stupid joke about an American hooker who walked into a bar. He fucks up the punchline and tells it first, but the others continue to listen patiently, nodding with mock seriousness at every twist and turn of the story.

The wholeness of it is astounding to Jeongguk. He wonders at how he finds himself here, again. The beautiful sense of belonging that comes with sitting in a circle of friends, laughing without a care in the world. He never thought he could be here again. And he realizes, this was all he ever needed.

He fixes his eyes on Yugyeom who is grinning with a cider in his hands, cheeks tinted red and body slack. He looks beautiful in the peachy-pink light, hair ruffled and lips soft as dreaming.

 

He lets out a puff of warm hair, his fringe fluttering. Smiles.

 

Shit, he had forgotten.

 

Jeongguk had been waiting for some sort of seismic shift. Because that’s what love had been with Taehyung. Painful yet monumental and utterly remarkable. But instead, love lurked in the shadows of a Thursday afternoon in Seoul. Love was watching Yugyeom laughing over alcohol and friendly banter and caring so, so much about him, deeply about him.

 

Naturally and quickly he had slipped into a devotion from which he knew he wouldn’t be escaping in a hurry.


	5. Were you the lighthouse? Or the storm?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeongguk realises how madly in love with Yugyeom he is. 
> 
> But scared and confused by love, he can never bring himself to admit it. 
> 
> They sleep together, which only complicates things further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The final installment. A big thanks to all of you who have been following this series from the beginning!!
> 
> Also, perhaps now is the right time to tell yall that this work is heavily heavily influenced + inspired by the fic "and when you think of me, am i the best you've ever had" by @causeitsred so PLEASE give it a read if you have the time. That particular fic really shook me and brought me back to writing about falling out of love and all that jazz. 
> 
> THANKYOU SO MUCH FOR COMMENTS AND KUDOS much love.

Yoongi visits. Jeongguk is shaken. He had opened the door expecting Jaebum (“Kookie-ah you have to check out this buffet I swear to god it will turn your entire life around for the better I promis”) only to be greeted by his hyung, more or less the same as he had been almost a year ago. When he caught Jeongguk’s chin with his sharp, heavy fist, spitting profanities in his face. He had never seen Yoongi cry before that incident.

Dressed in a dark blue bomber with mint green hair Yoongi struts in, neither noticing nor caring about Jeongguk’s obvious distress.

His feline eyes scan the room, taking in Yugyeom’s possessions and clothes scattered messily across several surfaces. Yugyeom had been almost parasitic in his gradual room-share with Jeongguk. He had moved in slowly, beginning with a few innocent t-shirts and escalating to his laptop and underwear shoved tightly into Jeongguk’s overflowing wardrobe. He had protested weakly, but he could hardly deter Kim Yugyeom once his mind was made up. And anyway, Yugyeom had seen right through him. Sensed his excitement and gentle assent. The bastard.

 

“So you’ve found someone new?”

 

“Sort of” Jeongguk sighs. “He found me”

 

After some hesitation, he cannot help but ask. “How’s Taehyung?”

 

Yoongi’s glare makes him shrink back.

 

“Not great. But getting better.”

Taehyung had been depressed, apparently. Holed up in Jimin’s apartment, attending classes but doing little else. Not speaking, not eating. Just surviving. Only recently he had started to smile again. Go out. Talk to people other than Jimin. Open up to old and new things.

It hurts to hear it. The damage he’s caused. The guilt stabs, creating fresh wounds all over again.

 

“Why did you do it?” Yoongi whispers.

The question has remained unanswered in Jeongguk’s own heart for many bitter months. But he tries now to put what he knows in words.

“I wanted to tear him down. We were doing it to one another. It was a game. May the cruelest and calmest win. And I won.”

He is cast back to those last few months. Screaming at one another through phone receivers, punching through walls and angry, makeup sex concluded within minutes. Why had they kept going? They had ruined their friendship, compatibility, everything. Love was the only thing they had anymore. Twisted and obscene as it was.

Yoongi’s expression is a mix of pity and horror. Jeongguk knows from facebook posts and sweet Instagram snaps that he and Hoseok are together. Have been together, for almost half a year. He should ask how they are. Strike up conversation. With an old and good friend, whom he had lost when he lost Taehyung and everything else.

“Hoseok and I are doing well, you know.”

“But sometimes I get scared. I get jealous too. I can almost understand why you did what you did. Although I hate it. Remember when we were at that one party? And Jimin was drunk as fuck and Taehyung was rubbing up on him? And you were crying really quietly in the corner? And you tried to pretend you were just drunk crying but I knew, man.”

Jeongguk remembers all too clearly. Through the haze of cigarette smoke and tufts of unkept hair, he had seen Taehyung with love in his eyes, picking Jimin up off the ground. Holding him in his arms before resting him gently in his lap. He knew then that he had lost. But god, had it been a beautiful fight.

“Here’s the thing Jeon Jeongguk. You and Taehyung fucking overcomplicated things. You know? You thought you were entitled to one another. You forgot how simple it is to make another person happy. A late night phone call. Their favorite coffee. It’s not that hard. You just have to remember to try. Seriously. You guys thought love was the question. The hardest problem in life. But love is actually the answer. The simplest, plainest answer in the world. And yet, you couldn’t quite figure it out.”

Yoongi is usually quite solemn and silent so this is a clear deviation from his usual self. He falls silent now, having probably exhausted every word of his 500 per annun word capacity.

Then pipes up again. 

"That being said, fuck you"

He is getting up to leave, and Jeongguk is hopelessly still. He is hardly innocent, and he has little to no right in this place. His mind racing, he makes a guttural noise. 

_Speak now._

"Hyung, I've missed you"

He hates moments like these, where the truth is laid bare under the harsh light. The feeling makes him lightheaded and nauseous. It could have been a different life. They could have been in this room together in this very moment, smoking and talking about the most mundane of things. Like dicks and the colour of Hoseok's hair and institutional racism. Deep and good shit, and they could slip into a space where words flow carelessly and laughter is rife. 

But it is all lost. 

Yoongi looks at him with a wry smile, tight and closed. 

"I can't fucking say the same" he whispers. 

 

And then he is gone. Jeongguk is left alone in the dappled sunlight, the silence deafening. His heart, too loud. The ground is shaking, and he is drowning once more, once more. 

So he returns to his bathroom, vomiting with his hands planted firmly on the cheap toilet seat. 

He proceeds to hate himself religiously for the next few days, only pausing to reply to a million and one missed calls and disquieted texts from Yugyeom. 

 

\--

 

Mark, is handsome. As handsome as Yugyeom? Maybe. But Jeongguk knows he is biased. Mark is dashing. Heads turn when he struts through the room like it’s a runway. The words exiting his mouth? Not so pretty.

 

“I can’t even believe you haven’t fucked yet”

 

Jeongguk takes his time with his coffee. He licks the inside of the rim, catching the last few rivulets of bitter substance. He needs all the strength he can get for what’s coming. Finally, he places the cup down.

 

“No, we haven’t fucked. We’re not like that, Mark. Could I have the bill please?”

 

“But you like him.”

 

Oh, shit.

 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about. The bill! Honestly! What do I have to do to get service around here!?”

 

“Jeongguk we all know. The only dumb fucker who doesn't know is Yugyeom. But it's as clear as day that you want to hold him down and fuck him senseless.”

Jeongguk glares. He can sense ears trained on their conversation, college girls and old fogies listening aghast to the all-to casual conversation of two gay men. Scarring stuff, really. Turn away children.

“Okay” Jeongguk yields.

 

“I love him.”

The words tumble easy from his mouth. The same feeling that brushes up against him when he wakes up to a warm armful of Yugyeom in the morning. Or when Yugyeom cooks him ramyun after a shift, too much water and too little seasoning, brow furrowing in concentration. Or most of all at 1AM when Yugyeom whispers “I love you” and presses their foreheads together in their bed, feet tangled beneath torrid sheets. Why so easy to say now?

“Yes.” Mark rocks back, satisfaction settling on his handsome features. “So why won’t you tell him that?”

“It’s too awkward. It keeps almost happening, but then I back out. Yugyeom just keeps saying it too. So it feels too late for me to say it.”

“Never too late for love”

 

Sigh. “I know”

 

“So let him know. It’s eating him alive”

 

\--

 

But fate refuses to relinquish its control over Jeongguk’s life. And when Yugyeom bursts in on Jeongguk nervously waiting on their shared bed (bouquet concealed under the bed, words at the ready) he insists that they visit the Ellui Club, the largest club in Seoul which is coincidentally having a student discount night. That very night. No time to waste.

So Jeongguk finds an ecstatic Yugyeom styling his hair, applying lip tint hastily, and shoving him into his one clean white shirt (which wouldn’t be the case, if Yugyeom would stop neglecting his laundry duties) and practically carrying him onto the next subway to Gangnam-gu.

He could say no. But really, he’s whipped as fuck.

The club is absolutely packed. The music is thumping, and the crowd moves as a mass, feet pounding to the beat. Jeongguk has more alcohol on his clothes than in his system and he can tell he is ruined just by the way the girls are looking at him. 15 shots later he loses vision in one eye. Sweet, he thinks. Two more should be just about right. Flirting with death but still conscious.

At sixteen shots he is floating. His fingertips are numb and his neck is sweating. One name bounces through his head. He finds the owner of that name, with a girl draped around his neck.

 

Oh.

 

Yugyeom is swaying, lips parted and eyes blinking lazily. He maintains a strong grip around her waist. Jeongguk can’t see her, but her onyx hair floods down to her petite waist. And her ass is glorious. He feels himself keenly. Everything too keenly. The way he is standing there alone, amongst tattooed and sweaty bodies pressing against one another. Yugyeom is far, wrapped around someone else. Yugyeom? No, Taehyung? No, Yugyeom. Taehyung, with Jimin.

Falling in love with somebody else.

Shit, it hurts so bad.

And Jeongguk launches through the crowd because he is suffocating. He is drowning again in this state of desolation. That same awful, awful conviction that visited him at night. Seeped through the cracks of the curtain. Lurked in the shadows beneath cupboard doors.

The certainty that nobody actually, loved him.

That he would lose everything he cared for.

 

Fuck.

 

 

“Jeonggukie”

Yugyeom’s voice is heavy and ripe with promise and love. How? Who is she? Go back to her, you slut. He swallows the cruel words. Uncalled for. His inability to control his tongue had landed him here in the first place.

“I stole her keycard from her while she was rubbing up on me, the ugly bag. Want to check out room 336?”

Yugyeom must be able to read Jeongguk’s expression, despite his state of intoxication. He throws back his head to laughs with mirth, the sound muted by the EDM drowning out the world around them.

“Kookie, really? I would never”

 

\--

 

Room 336 is the most luxurious suite Jeongguk has ever been graced by in his entire life. The carpet sinks beneath their feet and he panics for a moment, thinking it is quicksand. In reality, he’s just really fucking drunk. The colour scheme is dark red and gold, and Jeongguk watches in wonder as Yugyeom plummets into the thickest blanket he has ever seen, in the largest canopy bed imaginable. Oh lord, this boy. To think god had created such beauty. And given him eyes to see it. Yugyeom is everything he has ever doted on concentrated in this one body. When it comes to Yugyeom, Jeongguk is insatiable. Oblivious to Jeongguk’s inner turmoil, Yugyeom rolls lazily around in the bed, giggling quietly. The sheets rustle with his movement, but then come to an abrupt halt.

 

“Oh.” A light exhale.

 

“Check this out, Jeongguk”

 

Yugyeom is chortling now, the sound pealing in the dimly lit room. He is holding up a pair of handcuffs, red and lined with faux fur. Jeongguk’s heart skips a beat. He knows what is going to happen now. He can see it unfold, a path mapped out all too clearly before him.

_Click._

Fucking knew it. That Inebriated Kim Yugyeom would handcuff himself. Most likely to the bedpost. No? Headboard.

And I bet you anything, Jeongguk thinks.

Frantic clattering. A sigh of mild annoyance.

 

“It won’t come off Kookie.”

 

Jeongguk cannot even be bothered to think “I thought as much.”

 

\--

And so he is seated on Yugyeom’s torso, hand steadying his sternum as Yugyeom wiggles beneath him giggling as Jeongguk attempts (to no avail) to undo the cuffs (sturdier than he could have possible predicted). Christ, are they made of titanium or something?

In his frantic attempt to release Yugyeom from his constraint, he fails to realize the silence that has descended upon the pair.

 

“Yugyeom, fuck, we might have to call someone up here because these-“

 

And he makes the grand mistake of looking down.

Yugyeom looks impossibly sultry, arm yanked up above his head, revealing his beautifully toned bicep. His v-necked shirt is dragged down as far as it’ll go, revealing his broad chest. His neck is thrown to the side, but he is eyeing Jeongguk hungrily. Jeongguk knows this. He knows that gaze. Foreboding something much more than even this moment of physical intimacy. And Kim Yugyeom has the audacity to lick his lips.

 

“Jeongguk”

 

No no no NO No don’t say it.

 

“Fuck me?”

 

\--

 

Yugyeom never shuts up in daily life. But now he’s a melted mess, quaking beneath Jeongguk with his legs spread, cock twitching. It’s a glorious show. Jeongguk is captivated by every little moan that escapes his lips, every toss of the head, every tremble. Yugyeom is massive. Built, taller than Jeongguk. The epitome of masculinity. But now he is pliant as Jeongguk fingers him, pushing his digits lazily in to scrape the walls and prod at what is unmistakably the prostate. And it’s driving Jeongguk wild.

 

He watches the way Yugyeom, overwrought, grips at the thin chain that connects his wrist to the headboard. With a grunt he pushes a third finger in, and feels Yugyeom shake beneath him. He is hardly frail but perfectly skinny, and Jeongguk takes great pleasure in watching his toned stomach heave, cock dribbling heavily onto his stomach. He can’t stop himself. His mind feels detached from his body, moving hungrily to tear Yugyeom apart, devour every, part, of, him.

He dips his head to catch Yugyeom’s manhood in his mouth. Swirling his tongue around the tip, he relishes in the sound of Yugyeom sobbing, body wracked with pleasure and tainted by Jeongguk’s lips.

 

“Gyeommie” he never uses Yugyeom’s nickname because Yugyeom just enjoys it too damn much. And Jeongguk considers himself a master of teasing and deprivation. But just once, he parts with his stubborn ego. Yugyeom is far too precious for these games.

 

Yugyeom responds, voice as wet and sweet as honey.

 

“Gukkie?”

 

“I’m gonna put it in yeah?”

Eyes squeezed shut. The tiniest of nods.

“Yeah okay” Jeongguk replies stupidly.

He’s just trying to fill the space with his words. Because he’s scared, a little. Okay, here goes. He steadies himself, painfully hard and throbbing lightly between his legs. Pushes in, gradually.

Oh god, it’s so good. Yugyeom is soft and tight and sucks him in. Oh shit, Jeongguk realizes absentmindedly. No condom. Huh. The proximity is breathtaking. He is, they are. Together. That is, until he thumps the rest of himself into the narrow warmth and looks up to see that Yugyeom is literally crying. Face scrunched up with tears, pleasure, but also pain, chiseled into his face.

“Shit dude, you’re so tight. What are you, a virgin?”

 

“Yes” Yugyeom replies breathlessly.

 

“I- what?”

 

“I wanted it to be you, Jeongguk”

 

Checkmate. Jeongguk pushes in, wordlessly. He takes the moans as encouragement and continues to thrust in, pace steady. He’s not trying to play games. He doesn't want to draw this out, tease Yugyeom too much. He just wants it to be as good as possible. Pleasure wracks his lower half as he feels Yugyeom clench around him. His eyes remain shut, so he seizes the opportunity to fit his hand inside the tender shape of Yugyeom’s. It feels so right.

He leans in for a kiss but changes his mind, instead choosing to press their chest together, pushing his nose flat against the plane of Yugyeom’s heaving shoulder. They are so close. Every part of them. Breathing together, as one. Filthy, slow, messy sex. Untold half-truths.

Yugyeom cums first, face blissed out and lips parted slightly. Sweat trickling down his collarbone. It’s enough to make Jeongguk lose himself in the messiness of Yugyeom’s insides. It’s fucking nasty and he never does this, but he cleans Yugyeom out with his tongue, gently licking his insides while tugging at his overstimulated cock. He reduces Yugyeom to small screams and a hand tangled in Jeongguk’s raven hair. Exactly how he likes it.

“Oh shit” Yugyeom exclaims in the fuddled heat of excellent, drunk sex. “Look they come off easily”. Sure enough, the cuffs are undone and hanging loosely on his right wrist. Exhausted beyond belief, Jeongguk can barely muster a complaint. He laughs softly though. This bitch. He thinks. He will always one-up me. I’ll always be playing by his card.

 

\--

“Nice tattoo” He hears Yugyeom whisper in the darkness.

 

“Yeah, tarot card”. Strange, it doesn’t hurt anymore.

 

“That’s sick dude. A tarot card with a heart, huh? I should get one. We could be matching.”

 

“Don’t do it. What if you end up hating me within the next few years?”

 

“Nah, I think I’ll still love you. Next year, and the year after that. Shit, hopefully even the year after that”

 

_Say it Jeongguk, say it._

 

The words scratch at his throat as he falls into a deep sleep.  
Yugyeom stroking his arm lethargically, and planting a kiss on his throat, before snuggling up into him.

 

\--

 

There are more perfect days which jeongguk wishes he could pause and rewind to replay for all eternity. He comes close, a few more times. As they walk back briskly to the dorm, autumn wrapping its cold limbs around their ears, Yugyeom exhales at the sky and makes the smallest noise of approval.

 

“The stars are so beautiful”

 

Soft white in the nightlight, Yugyeom is glowing. Jeongguk wants to haul every single one of those stars from the sky and gift them to Yugyeom, just so he can see that none are even remotely close to how beautiful he is.

 

Or another morning, where Yugyeom wakes up first to make raspberry pancakes and Jeongguk finds him shirtless, golden shoulders tense and body deliciously bare. Needless to say, he fucks Yugyeom open on the kitchen counter, warm, wet air enveloping their all. I feel like I’ve known you, even before I’ve known myself, Jeongguk thinks. But Yugyeom smiling shakily beneath him leaves the words stillborn in his mouth. Jeongguk realizes that he is not afraid of love. Rather, the fear is love.

 

\--

 

Winter deepens between the high rise buildings and the cold quickens their hearts. Yugyeom is working on some wanky art project around the corner, and Jeongguk waits patiently at a bustling café on a Sunday morning. It is a pleasant venue, cramped but warm. The floor tiles are baby blue, matching the chipped crockery. The staff are attentive and service is quick. Jeongguk is nodding off, thoroughly content and cappuccino sitting heavy in his stomach. Perhaps he’ll have a muffin or croissant to finish off. No. His body is a temple.

Somebody slips smoothly into the opposite seat of the tiny booth. Their legs intertwine and Jeongguk lights up.

 

“Yugy-“

 

But it’s Kim Taehyung.

 

Jeongguk all but forgets to breathe. Here he is. Boy of his dreams. Strawberries in July. The colour of his tears for far too many years. Broken hopes at midnight, shed endlessly over you, you, Taehyung.

Why come to hurt me now.

 

“Hi Gukkie”

 

“What are you doing here”

 

He is in agony. Because he looks so beautiful. Neatly trimmed yellow hair and amber eyes, perfect lips. The same face that had lit up his days and destroyed them. Set fire to his soul. As if nothing has changed. And yet, there is nothing. Utter emptiness. He searches in bewilderment. But he has nothing left in his heart for lost love.

 

“This is my café. I work here. Shift starts in about 15 minutes”

 

Of course. Taehyung, the barista. How could he ever forget? Had they not been journeying together for so long?

 

“How have you been” escape is futile, cramped between plush headrests and small oak tables. The smell of coffee is biting the air between them. His palms are clammy.

 

“I’m getting better.”

And so it seems. He is skinnier, cheeks sunken and ribs protruding beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. But there is light in his eyes. Life flows in his veins. Jeongguk feels relief and guilt, a concoction of emotions pouring into his mind like molten lava. There are millions of things he wants to say, and yet, nothing at all.

 

“Jimin and I are together now.”

 

It doesn’t even hurt, and he feels relieved. Just surreal, that Taehyung is here, the same boy who used to gasp for breath pinned into the sheets. Now, here. Different, but better.

 

“I told him the other day that I loved him, and it was really good.”

 

Taehyung isn’t talking to fill space, he’s trying to tell Jeongguk something. Perhaps he’s been in communication with Yoongi, no definitely. It feels terrible that he crushed the best bits of Taehyung between his palms (long ago, but still, some wounds can never heal) and he is still here, trying to help him.

Taehyung’s eyes trace his hands, folded together on the table.

 

“Just tell him you love him.”

 

He has never been able to form coherent words from his feelings. But he appreciates this. This moment. This advice. Taehyung, timid but determined, trying his best.

So he makes a mistake.

Reaches out to place his own hand on Taehyung’s. A friendly gesture, an aching thanks. The least he can do.

 

In the seconds following, several things happen immediately and in rapid succession. Taehyung is making a terrible noise from the back of his throat, trying to tug his hand away, face drawn like shades. His eyes pull back in horror. He looks close to throwing up. And Jeongguk is being ripped away, left in a half-standing position as his head is slammed into the back of his seat. The pain succeeds the numbness and he whines, tongue heavy and sore from the impact. Jimin, having appeared from seemingly nowhere has him by the collar, as tight as possible. His little knuckles are pressed ruthlessly hard into Jeongguk’s windpipe and he almost gags. His face is twisted into the darkest expression Jeongguk has ever seen. Mouth spitting pure malice.

 

“Do. Not. Touch. Him”

 

This is it, Jeongguk thinks. This is my punishment. My deliverance. What I truly deserve. Taehyung, cowering away from his touch, on the verge of what seems like a panic attack. Jimin with tears leaking down his face, colored red and raising his fist to deliver a blow.

 

The door is flung open.

 

Kim Yugyeom covers the distance between them in groundbreaking speed. Three strides and he has his hand on Jimin’s neck, yanking him to the ground. Jimin falls heavy, groaning as his tailbone makes contact with the tile floor. Yugyeom lands a kick to his ribs, leaving his foot pinned against Jimin’s thigh to keep him down.

A crowd has formed. Some are concerned, others are filming nonchalantly on their smartphones. Jeongguk watches in muted concern as what can only be the store manager punches a three-digit number into the store landline.

 

“What are you going to do, defend a fucking rapist??”

 

Jimin’s shrill scream is deafening. Every head turns. Rapist? Where? The one in the white t-shirt? Black hair? Must be. Fuck, that’s fucked isn’t it? Are the police coming? We should really be leaving.

The words are swirling around him, the general hubbub of the crowd falling short of his consciousness. He hates himself for this. For Taehyung, retching in the corner. Jimin on the ground, bruises no doubt blossoming under his striped sweater.

But worst of all, Yugyeom staring at him, disbelief and hurt touching every corner of his stupendous face. He should have died, in that room the instance he killed what he had with Taehyung. He never should have left. Let others add lustre to his damp, grey life.

 

He should never have let Yugyeom heal him.

 

And as he watches Yugyeom leave, as swiftly as he entered, he can do little else but follow his footsteps. The crowd parts silently, confused and frightened eyes licking his side profile. But by the time he has reached the door Yugyeom is nowhere to be seen.

Jeongguk feels as though the sky is crashing in loaded cloud by cloud, suffocating him and burying him alive.

 

\--

 

 _Regret, my best friend_ Jeongguk thinks fondly at 4:30AM four mornings later. The familiarity of the feeling is almost comforting. This is him. This is his life. He feels it crawl through his ribcage and erect a kingdom within. And he lets it.

 

He is cold in his bed. He cannot help but remember Yugyeom, warm as spring and soft as petals between his arms. Perhaps that was the last time. Perhaps he would never touch Yugyeom again with his filthy, filthy hands. He chokes back a sob. Because he fucking misses him.

 

Pouring instant coffee into Yugyeom’s mug three hours later, his bleary mind drifts to another last day, another death. He had mourned that loss too.

 

\--

 

“Jeongguk I want to break up”

What?

 

Jeongguk was pale and seething in Taehyung’s tiny apartment, the two of them stood literally only a metre apart. The same distance that had remained between them as they walked together, loved together, slept together. And now, broke up together.

 

“No”

 

“You can’t just say that, Kookie.”

 

Taehyung looks genuinely ugly, face drooping under the cheap lights. He is gritting his teeth and speaking in harsh whispers. The words are painful and genuine. What had happened? They had been at Namjoon’s apartment minutes ago, and Jeongguk had relished in the sight of Jimin’s torment. The fool. In love with _his_ Taehyung.

 

He had been the fool.

 

When had they travelled so far apart?

 

“jeongguk-ah, I don’t love you anymore. I love Jimin. I can’t keep doing this. This… this show. What the fuck is this? Why do we keep dragging it out? Just because it was good once doesn’t mean it will just become good again. And just because we invested five years of our lives doesn’t mean it’s too late to back out. And start again.”

 

Is this real? Yeah, it’s real. Christ.

 

Jeongguk resorts to staring at Taehyung’s hand, which have hurt him and held him. Is this it? This pain? After all this hurt, you can just walk away, unscathed? I love Jimin? What?

 

But what about me?

And he moves backwards towards the counter and grasps the coffee machine, heavy and rich metal melding to his touch. And he hurls it forwards on to the ground.

 

\--

From there, scrambled memories only remain. Taehyung attempting to text Jimin discreetly (he sees every fucking movement), trying to calm Jeongguk with a soothing voice. Jeongguk taking the same phone, hurling it at the light. Glass splinters. Taehyung terrified. The fear, feeding his anger. The door bangs open, Jimin blind in the dark. But Jeongguk maneuvers through the wreckage with ease. Slams Jimin against the wall with all the loathing he has accumulated over the past months.

 

Taehyung is screaming at him. Sirens in his head, but he chooses to ignore them. Damnit, he thinks. There was one thing I wanted to say, and I couldn’t even say it.

 

_Please don’t leave me here alone._

 

 

\--

 

The memory sees Jeongguk racing through the streets of Seoul. He has to get to Yugyeom. Tell him everything. From start to finish. Read the introduction, write the epilogue. Point out his favorite passages and battle through the worst. He has to tell, Yugyeom.

Yugyeom is dark and ruined under the bedcovers. He has been crying, and Jeongguk feels his heart twinge at the sight.

 

“What do you want?” gruffly. But there are no daggers in his voice. Only hollowness.

 

“I did something terrible to Taehyung. I held him down and had my way. He wanted to leave, and I couldn’t let him. So I tried to force it. But I ripped him apart instead.”

 

Regret oozes through the commas, slithers into the words. He sounds it. He sounds like sorrow.

Yugyeom sits up quietly, hair floppy and collarbones bared. His long legs are tossed carelessly over the side of the bed. His nightlight is dark green. Jeongguk thinks briefly of summer forests and emerald forage. But he can’t even remember Daegu or Taehyung anymore. Only Yugyeom picking strawberries and laughing as the nectar stitches his skin.

 

Deep breath.

 

“And truth is, I love you so, so much. You are everything. I dream about you. I hurt about you. I want you to be here with me, always. Nothing is the same, Gyeommie. You’re a part of me. And god, I need you. I love you so bad I can barely breathe”

 

_Say it now._

The tear slips. Warm and solid down his cheek. Plinks to the ground.

 

“Please don’t leave me here alone”

 

A gentle hand cups his chin. Jeongguk looks up in shock, only to find Yugyeom close, pressing them together.

 

“You can never undo what you did"

 

The reminder is poignant and crushing in truth. But Yugyeom is here. Resting a trembling hand on his face and looking weary, but steady into his own wavering eyes. Perhaps it will never be alright again. They will never recover, and life will continue to trample him for his sins. But for now, there is peace. He has spoken his mind. Let the rest come as it will. 

 

 

The sun is rising. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate the demand but I can write no more. This story is finished. I apologise.
> 
> But as the author, I know when the narrative is done.


End file.
